


come home to my heart

by scoutshonour



Category: The Wilds (TV 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Fatin-centric, Friends to Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Swearing, What-If, and were forcibly reunited thanks to the ~crash~, so much swearing I'm sorry, unfortunately needed mentions of jeffrey i'm sorry for that too, what if they became friends right before the island but had a falling out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 57,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28678140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scoutshonour/pseuds/scoutshonour
Summary: In the months before the crash, through a string of extraordinarily ordinary events - Tuesday morning, first-period Philosophy, and an asshole named Brent - Fatin and Leah become kind of, sort of, almost friends.They still end up hating each other on the island.Though this time, it’s with a few more steps.
Relationships: Fatin Jadmani/Leah Rilke
Comments: 167
Kudos: 391





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi friends!! as per the summary, this is a little what-if that changes only one part of the show, leah and fatin's dynamic prior to the crash, or rather, this gives them one while everything else, the crash, their initial animosity on the island, and eventual reunion, stays the same. but with (more) romance. <3
> 
> the first three chapters will follow them before the island while the last three will follow them on the island. so the other girls are in this, but not until later!!
> 
> and one last note - the timelines of leah and fatin before the crash have been altered and kind of merged but the core of what happens with jeffrey and fatin's dad stays the same. 
> 
> this is from fatin's POV so while jeffrey is discussed in this fic and this chapter, reminiscent to how he is discussed by fatin and leah in the first episode, he won't ever appear!! 
> 
> title is from lorde's "supercut"
> 
> thank you so much for clicking onto this!! now, onto the first chapter.

“Why would you _measure_ it?”

“Because I didn’t believe him,” Fatin says plainly. Maybe telling Audrey about yesterday’s post-practice evening spent with her friend, Jarusan, a first-year majoring in Forensic Science, five minutes before their Philosophy class starts isn’t the greatest of ideas.

But Audrey asked. So Fatin’s happy to answer, relishing in her friend’s laughter before she proceeds. “So I called his bullshit, he told me I could measure it if I want to, I called his bluff and -”

“Hate to interrupt, ladies.” Brent waves in Fatin’s direction from where he sits backwards at the desk in front of Audrey. “Actually, no, I don’t hate to. Fatin, can I ask you something about your fascinating story?”

Fatin rolls her eyes so hard it’s a wonder they don’t get stuck. That’s all she gives Brent before she continues telling Audrey, “And I found a ruler on his little school desk, ugh, it’s so cute how scholarly he is, right? He even had a compass.”

“Fatin?”

“- And so I got the ruler, and it was bendable and pink too, which, _fun_ -”

“Fatin, what the fuck, answer me.”

Fatin shoots a glance at Brent. He looks annoyed but looks confused, his forehead wrinkled as he begins to snap in Fatin’s direction. She continues to ignore him.

“And I obviously measured his dick. Unsurprisingly, I was right. And he got all embarrassed, but I told him that I wasn’t shaming him. I was giving him a lesson on self-love, you know? I mean, I -”

“ _Fatin.”_

“- I was already in his bed, clearly I was into him, so he doesn’t have to be ashamed about something that’s really not a -”

“God, Fatin, you don’t have to be such a cunt -”

“ _Oh my god,_ shut the fuck up and stop talking to Fatin. She doesn’t care.”

Startled, Fatin finally falls quiet, the rest of her story stuck in her throat. Along with everyone else in the class, she immediately looks to the source of the voice that successfully shut Brent, and the entire class, up.

It’s the girl sitting in front of Fatin and to Brent’s right. She has a book clenched in her hands, highlighted and annotated to hell and back. Even though the pages are all marked up and are the only thing Fatin can see from behind her shoulder, Fatin recognizes the novel. 

Attending East Bay Academy of Art makes it impossible not to recognize any inch of _The Nature of Her._ The 3.1 stars Goodreads novel was written by the ‘genius’ author who attended their school eons ago. 

Fatin hasn’t read it. It looks dreadfully boring, too ‘meaningful’ for her taste. But it’s required reading for most of their school’s English classes. From what Fatin’s heard, it’s beloved more than the older classics they’re forced to read. 

And clearly beloved by the girl, Leah. 

She didn’t look up from the page when she snapped at Brent. 

She doesn’t look up from the page when the rest of the class bursts into whispers tinged with laughter.

But she does look up when their Philosophy teacher sighs and says, “Leah? Please tell me I didn’t actually hear that.”

Leah looks up then. Fatin can’t see her face but she does see her shoulders hunch up and her right-hand scratch her neck. Her nails are uneven, two with red and chipped nail polish.

“Uh,” Leah says. “Please tell me you didn’t walk in right when I said that and not hear literally any else of what was said before.”

“Unfortunately, that is the case.”

“Brent started it. He was being a dick and I was -”

“Leah.”

Leah clicks her tongue to the roof of her mouth.

Mr. Sorraine rubs his forehead. He marches to the front of the class and gestures helplessly to everyone. “Well? Can anyone verify Leah’s claim?”

Fatin already knows no one’s going to say anything. She doesn’t bother looking around to make sure before she shoots her hand up. “Brent was speaking highly -”

“Fatin, I didn’t call on you.”

“Oh, my g - do you see anyone else raising their hand?” Fatin pointedly sticks her hand back up in the air and waits with her jaw clenched.

“Yes, Fatin?”

“Brent was speaking highly inappropriately towards me. He said words I don’t want to say to you and you probably don’t want to hear from me.”

“What _kind_ of words?”

Fatin grits her teeth, making failed attempts to keep the irritation off her face and out of her voice. “Misogynistic ones. Leah was just telling him to be quiet.” 

The class stays quiet. No one even nods or mumbles an affirmation of what Fatin had said. Again, Fatin’s not surprised but she’s so over it.

She looks at Audrey pointedly. 

Audrey nods. She promptly looks at Mr. Sorraine, raises her hand, and turns on her brilliant smile.

“Yes, Ms. Zhou?”

“It’s true! It made us all uncomfortable, sir.”

Mr. Sorraine finally has the decency to look appalled at Brent. “That language is unacceptable. One more comment like that and I’ll be talking to Mr. Grady about your conduct and see if that’ll affect your lead-role in the end-of-year play. Understood?”

Brent slouches in his chair and nods once. “Yes.”

Mr. Sorraine nods back before he looks at Leah. “That goes for you too.”

“You’re threatening to tell Mr. Grady on me and get me removed from the play I’m not in?” Leah asks flatly.

Another round of muffled laughter. The vein on Mr. Sorraine’s forehead throbs. Fatin has never heard Leah speak more than five words before this morning but that suddenly seems impossible.

“I’m going to ignore that,” Mr. Sorraine says as he ambles towards his desk. “Because you were defending Fatin. God, and here I was, worried that a bunch of juniors in first-period philosophy would be too tired to participate. I appreciate the ... energy but let’s not forget we’re in a classroom alright, folks?”

Everyone grumbles half-heartedly.

“Alright, we have just a few minutes until the bell goes off.” Sorraine plops into his chair and leans back into it. “Let’s not throw around profanity anymore. Or just don’t let me hear it.”

And then the class dissolves back into conversation. Audrey instantly turns to face Fatin, reaching out to clasp her wrists. 

“Ohmygod, that was wild,” Audrey whisper-shouts. “I’ve literally _never_ heard that girl speak but oh my god? She just snapped. How crazy.”

Fatin feels something both sharp and soft swell inside of her. Needing to wipe off that conspiratorial glint in Audrey’s eyes, Fatin smiles back, all teeth. “What’s crazy is that she’s the only one to call Brent out for being a pig. _She’s_ not crazy.”

Audrey blinks. Fatin shifts in her seat, her heart in her throat. She doesn’t like causing that stricken look on her best friend’s face but she also doesn’t like her best friend’s silence when an asshole, even when he’s as useless as Brent, is, well. Being an asshole. Or that Audrey’s takeaway is that that girl, Leah, is the one with issues.

Audrey’s still touching Fatin’s wrist. Fatin doesn’t really know what else to say. She sure as hell won’t be the one to budge because _she’s_ not wrong, so she holds Audrey’s gaze, waiting, waiting, waiting -

“I’ll murder him if you want.” Audrey flexes her fingers, staring at her long pink nails. “It’d be real easy.”

“Nah, don’t ruin your nails on him. He’s not worth it.”

“I’ll tell Connor to make him set up the set by himself for today’s rehearsal before telling Mr. Grady what he said today?” Audrey’s not really asking, though. She’s telling Fatin exactly what she’s going to do whether Fatin continues to be frosty or gives in.

And knowing that is what makes Fatin give in. She smiles, soft around the edges, and traces Audrey’s middle nail. And just like that, the air is cleared.

“I love how in love with you Connor is,” Fatin says.

Audrey smiles down, something almost shy in the tentative curve of her mouth. “Me too.”

The bell blares and jerks everyone out of their conversations. Sorraine clears his throat, tells his students to open their textbooks.

Fatin already has her textbook open. While her classmates shuffle to retrieve theirs, she leans into her seat and shares a final smile with Audrey before looking to the front of the class.

Which is exactly when Leah glances back. It’s startling, just how blue Leah’s eyes are, and how much Fatin can see reflected back in them. It runs a shiver down her spine. But she doesn’t break eye contact. Waits for Leah to say whatever it is she’s going to.

Leah doesn’t smile. She doesn’t even try that awkward grimace-smile to make up for how blatantly she’s staring at Fatin. And she doesn’t say a word.

Okay. Maybe Fatin was too harsh on Audrey. This is really fucking weird.

Why are there so many weirdos in this class? Fatin wants to like people. She really does. But shit like this makes it difficult.

But a beat later, Leah’s throat bobs. She nods and flashes Fatin the barest of smiles, small but enough to brighten her eyes and make Fatin forget, for one, blissful half-second about everything. About the calluses permanently etched into her fingertips, the screaming match she had with her mother forty-five minutes ago that forced her to reapply her makeup right before she had to leave for school, the two-hour cello practice she has later in the evening.

All she can think is, huh. Leah has a nice smile. 

The room taking up all the space in her mind clears up for one moment. It returns soon after, the second Leah turns away and faces the whiteboard, taking the form of a migraine she’s familiar with. 

Fatin doesn’t get it.

But she will soon.

(Later, on her sixth day on the island, when her throat is dry, her skin is coated with a layer of dirt, and she’s convincing herself that she is already forgetting the sound of her mother, brothers, and best friend’s voices, she will wonder -

_If I had just forgotten about Leah fucking Rilke after that day, would I be here right now?_

The answer is yes. Leah didn’t put her here. Her fucking parents did. 

But Fatin still thinks about it.

Even as she can feel Leah staring at her with those intense goddamn blue eyes from several feet away, the distance between them taunting Fatin, she’ll think about how even _if_ whatever it was she’d had with Leah somehow led to her being trapped on this island - she wouldn’t have changed it.

Whatever those scattered weeks were. At this point, Fatin still won’t fully understand it. Yet, she will know, with an unshakable certainty that runs bone-deep, that she would hold onto those weeks with her nails sunk into them and refuse to ever let go. She knows that she already is.

And she knows that makes her a dumbass.

But at least she’s not the one staring.)

.

.

.

Audrey hangs behind class after the dismissal bell rings. She plans to win back two marks from their latest quiz with a mix of her pep and passive-aggressive condescension towards Sorraine’s inconsistent marking.

So Fatin wishes her good luck, knowing that Audrey has this in the bag, and leaves class alone.

Well.

Sort of alone.

Fatin genuinely can’t remember if Leah’s in her next class, second-period Enriched French, or not. Still, they end up walking down the same empty hallway, taking the same shortcut.

“Hey, Leah?”

Leah doesn’t respond. She doesn’t look at Fatin who’s trailing behind her. She doesn’t even stop walking. But her shoulders stiffen. Sure, Leah’s got her earbuds plugged in, the wire tangled in her hair. Except her music isn’t loud enough to drown Fatin’s voice.

Good thing Fatin doesn’t care about potentially being ignored twice.

“Hey, girl,” Fatin says, touching Leah’s shoulder.

Leah comes to a sudden stop. She tenses, staring at Fatin’s hand. Which is fair, Fatin reasons, because five seconds of touching someone to get their attention is four and a half seconds too long.

So Fatin drops her hand, adjusts the straps of her backpack, and tamps up her smile.

Leah still looks confused. “Um. Hey?”

“Hey!”

“... _Hi_?”

“You told Brent to shut the fuck up.”

“Um. Yes. I did?”

“Yeah!”

“I’m sorry?”

Fatin has no idea how she’s messing up this badly. Leah keeps glancing around like she’s trying to find the nearest escape route. She bounces on the balls of her feet, looking more uncomfortable with each passing second. Fatin has a terrible thought that _she’s_ the Brent in this situation. That’s simply unacceptable, so Fatin tries a different approach: getting to the point.

“Do _not_ be sorry,” Fatin insists. “That was cool. Brent’s harmless but my fucking god is he an annoying dick. So I appreciate it. Just wanted to say thanks. So thanks.”

“Oh, that was - yeah, no, that was nothing.”

“No, girl, it was cool. And the shit you talked back to Sorraine? Amazing. That guy gets, like, way too annoyed by kids to be a teacher. And he’s only _thirty-two_. How concerning is that?”

Leah’s expression shifts. Something in her face opens - her lips twitch, her eyes flick to Fatin’s, the floor, then back to Fatin in quick succession. “Very.”

Fatin beams. She loops their arms together and resumes walking down the hall. Leah’s still stiff to Fatin’s touch but she doesn’t pull away or walk off in a different direction. Fatin chooses to be encouraged by that. “If he ever gives you shit, I’ve got you.”

“Uh, for sure. But I wasn’t - I mean, I’m glad if I, like, _helped_ in any way, but I didn’t entirely mean to tell Brent off?”

“Let me guess. You were super into your book and you couldn’t hear it over him calling me a cunt?”

Leah huffs out a shocked laugh. “Um, yes, actually.”

“Totally fine. Intent doesn’t really matter if it doesn’t match up with the outcome anyway.” Fatin should be offended that Leah’s small smile is as surprised as it is. She’s just pleased instead. “What? Does that surprise you that I said something coherent?”

“No, that’s not it. It’s just, do you actually believe that? That your intentions don’t matter?”

“That’s not what I said. But I mean, if you want to do something good but then fuck someone over completely in the end, what does it matter that you wanted to do good at all?”

At Leah’s prolonged silence, Fatin nudges her. “That wasn’t a rhetorical question, you know.”

Leah smiles again, slightly bigger this time, and shrugs a shoulder. She takes the lead of where the direction they walk, guiding them down the hallway then taking the first right. “You’re not wrong. But I think what you meant to do should still count.”

“So I should retract my thanks for you telling Brent off since you didn’t mean to do it? Is that what you’re saying? Do you know how to accept appreciation or?”

“You said thank you incorrectly.”

“No, you just forgot to say ‘you’re welcome.’”

“How about this, then.” Leah disentangles her arm from Fatin’s grip. She takes one step back from Fatin but doesn’t look uncomfortable anymore, not with the smile in her eyes. “I won’t give the ‘you’re welcome’ you really, really want for some reason. I’ll just give you another thank you back. So thanks for walking me to class.”

“I didn’t -” Fatin finally notices that they’ve stopped in front of a classroom in the hallway for all the junior level math courses. “Oh. I did.”

“Yup.” Leah’s eyes shine with a glint of amusement. “So thank you.”

Fatin stands straighter, back tall, chin up. Her resolve not to smile crumbles instantaneously, but at least she tried. “Well, you’re not welcome.”

Leah nods, biting her lip. “Great. So I’m going to ... go to class now. I guess I’ll see you.”

Fatin wishes she had a witty quip on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she exhales a fast “see you”, ducks her head, and idly twists her hoop earring. 

For what it’s worth, she regrets it before, after, and during.

But thank god that Leah is even more awkward. She raises her hand, her fingers stretching in a wave that she gives up halfway through. She walks backwards into class and immediately bumps into a scrawny boy.

The boy looks bewildered until he spots the back of Leah’s head and grins. “Leah! Dude, you gotta be careful. I could’ve been holding a pair of scissors with the blades pointing out.”

Fatin feels a little better about herself.

Leah elbows the boy without looking away from Fatin. “Well, thank god you didn’t impale me.” She rolls her eyes with clear affection, and he hooks his chin over her head with easy familiarity. 

Good for Leah. The guy looks at her with such fondness that Fatin suddenly feels like she’s intruding.

“Hey, Fatin,” Leah’s boyfriend says. Fatin has never seen this boy before in her life. “Did you need to speak to Mrs. Paterra?”

“Nope! Just dropped your girlfriend off.”

Fatin’s starting to think that maybe Leah is just in a perpetual state of confusion. Leah gawks, her eyebrows furrowing.

But before Leah can speak, the bell rings. Fatin is officially late for class.

Fatin waves goodbye as she swings around. Running goes against her morals, ethics, and wellbeing, and she also doesn’t care about her French class enough to bother. So she walks at a leisurely pace, the clicking of her heels accompanying her footsteps.

Distantly, a voice says, “Bye, Fatin” so softly that Fatin’s name cracks between the syllables.

Fatin doesn’t look back. But as she walks across the campus towards her next class, she wears a stupid smile the entire way.

(Later, Fatin will privately dub this smile her ‘Leah smile.’ 

Much later, Fatin will admit this to Leah with a painful amount of earnestness that she can’t stand in herself. Until Leah laughs in her shoulder, peeks up at Fatin with her eyes that will still take Fatin’s breath away, and admit that she has a ‘Fatin smile’ too.)

.

.

.

Fatin has a rule at home.

It’s the ‘no one talk, look, or even breathe at me for forty minutes after I get home from cello practice or I will lose my shit.’ (Shit is sensibly censored to ‘mind’ for her first brother and with an added ‘please’ for her second brother.)

Because cello practice follows her school day, afterwards, she’s always extremely irritable, exhausted and, as lovingly put by her mother last week, “snippety.” Fatin had asked what that meant.

Except she might have yelled it, and she might have phrased it as “who the hell still says snippety now and why do you think that’s going to make me feel better?” Which might have led to an argument.

Needless to say, the rule was not followed that day. 

That’s probably why today, Fatin has spent a blissfully undisturbed half an hour in her room. Nothing but her, her phone, her half-a-dozen pillows, and her king-sized bed keeping her company.

She refreshes her Instagram feed. The very first story is Brent’s. She doesn’t bother checking it before she unfollows him.

But it does make her think about something else to check.

Fatin confirms that she isn’t following anyone named Leah. Then, she checks Audrey’s account and bingo.

There, glowing on her screen, reads the username **lee-uh.rilke.**

Listen. Fatin doesn’t feel any shame or the slightest bit apologetic for her disproportionate ratio of followers to accounts followed. She has 5,349 followers and follows 120 accounts. Not only is it important for the maintenance of her brand, but it just looks better. Like, literally, in the least self-absorbed way possible, Fatin loves looking at it.

But seeing that **lee-uh.rilke** follows her but she doesn’t follow her back leaves a bad taste in her mouth.

She checks to ensure this is actually Leah from Philosophy. The account is set to private. That doesn’t surprise her. What does surprise her, though, is the tasteful selfie set as her profile picture. An almost sly half-smile, her lips painted dark red, her hair pushed back, a flowery black blouse peeking into the shot. And, of course, those blue eyes again.

It’s definitely Leah.

Leah’s bio reads _i am rooted but i flow_. Fatin’s quick to search the quote up and finds it’s a line written by Virginia Woolf. This also doesn’t surprise Fatin. But she can’t help but think that Leah should know better. After the repetitive presentations they’re forced to endure each semester on the importance of citing their research, she would think Leah would have cited it.

Fatin keeps the Virginia Woolf tab open on her phone and returns to Instagram. She requests to follow Leah. Forgets about it immediately when her group-chat “GIANT VIOLIN PLAYERS” starts to buzz incessantly with ranting about today’s practice.

Five minutes later, a knock on her door interrupts her typing an all-caps paragraph to her group-chat.

“Hello!? I have a rule! Do you want me to lose my - who is it?”

“It’s dad, sweetheart.”

“Do you want me to lose my shit, father?” Fatin’s annoyance deepens when her dad doesn’t answer her legitimate question. Instead, he opens her door and lets himself in.

He carries two mugs into her room. She smells the coffee on his breath before she even sees what’s inside his mug.

“Your forty minutes is up,” he says warmly, perching himself on the edge of her bed. “Your mom’s timer went off a few minutes ago.”

She rolls her eyes. Accepting the mug of chamomile tea her dad offers, she tosses her phone behind her. “Great. She’s timing when to tell me I’m not practicing enough and that I’m on my phone too much and that I need to bump my perfectly good A-minus in History to an A. I have no idea how you’ve stayed married to her without completely balding.”

“Easy. I love her.” Her dad smiles into the bottom of his mug. The simple affection of it all makes Fatin want to puke. She can recognize it’s great that her parents are still grossly in love as they were the day they met in college. But it’s disgusting and she wishes they would stop.

Her dad must catch Fatin’s only half-sincere disgust because he shakes his head. “And she loves you. That’s all. She just wants you to excel.”

“She doesn’t want me to be _happy_.” 

He scoots towards her. He hangs his arm over her shoulder, brings her close, and nestles her head against his shoulder. “She loves you,” he repeats. Fatin wants to point out that he didn’t disagree with her.

But she’s so tired. Bone-deep tired. It is exhausting to be everything but the person she wants to be. It’s just exhausting to be. Fatin is sick of it.

Her father strokes her hair. The chamomile tea burns perfectly down her throat. The constant migraine in her head eases.

Fatin’s phone buzzes behind her.

She immediately checks it.

“Your mother’s right. You really don’t have to be on your phone all of the time,” her dad teases.

She good-naturedly smacks his shoulder without looking. “Hypocrite. When are you _not_ buying your watches and checking your stock and texting a million different people all at once?”

“I’m not doing that right now?”

“But you are judging me. So stop!” 

“Alright, alright. Whoever it is, is it important?”

Fatin settles back into her father’s side. She lifts his arm, drapes it around her like a blanket, and sips her tea. “It’s very important.”

**_lee-uh.rilke_ ** _accepted your follow request._

.

.

.

Fatin is in the middle of researching JFK’s sexual history down the rabbit hole of Reddit. It obviously won’t count as a legitimate source for her paper, nothing more than a waste of time. She’s too engrossed to care.

Until a red and chipped fingernail hovers over her screen. “I really can’t tell if this is an educational pursuit or just recreational. Is this what you do in your spare time?”

Fatin nearly knocks over the iced coffee perched on the corner of her desk. It’s not because of Leah. She just hadn’t slept well in preparation for today’s cello performance test and a French essay she’d forgotten about until midnight. In doing so, she completely neglected her upcoming History paper hence why she’s bothering with homework before first period even begins.

Leah’s playful tone shifts completely when she asks, “Shit, did I scare you?” She plops into her seat in front of Fatin and hooks her backpack over the back of her seat with deft fingers. “Fatin?”

Fatin needs a power nap. She’d actually been _staring_ at Leah’s hands. She is not a pervert, she swears. She’s just sleep-deprived.

So she gives herself one-second to feel like complete and utter shit before she steps back into her skin. She tugs the butterfly charm hanging from her necklace. Crosses her legs at the ankle. Her heels are part of her embodiment but they also hurt so fucking much right now, so she gently toes out of her left heel and relishes in the painfully wonderful ache it grants her.

“Is violating other people’s privacy what you do in yours?” Fatin waits a beat, lets the panic fill Leah’s eyes before she gives her a teasing smile. “Or are you just that into conspiracy theories about past presidents and their non-hetero affairs?”

Leah’s face floods with relief. “I’m definitely not interested enough to have a caffeine-induced deep-dive into Reddit at, like, eight in the morning. In the middle of a classroom.”

Fatin closes her laptop. “I want to be offended but that is exactly what I’m doing right now, so. I can’t be a hypocrite. I was dick-deep -”

“I said _deep-dive_.”

“- Into conspiracy theories on JFK’s not straight sex life.”

“Okay, but you didn’t answer my question. Is this, like, an actual hobby of yours?”

Fatin blinks. “Is this a hobby of _yours_?”

“No, I’m just - you seem really into it, and, well, I literally cannot think of why this would be for school.”

“It started because of school,” Fatin explains, “but I got distracted.”

“Oh, okay.” Tension visibly drains from Leah’s shoulders, an ease in her muscles that shows. She gives Fatin an almost smile before she turns back around in her seat.

Fatin doesn’t want to get back to JFK’s sexual past. Well, not right now.

She debates it internally for five, maybe six seconds. She’s definitely going to bother Leah.

But she’s definitely okay with that.

Fatin leans over and rises out of her seat long enough to tap Leah’s shoulder three times.

“I read some Virginia Woolf last night,” Fatin says

Leah turns around again, shifting her legs to one side of her chair to face Fatin easier. “You ... what?”

“I. Read. Some. Virginia -”

Leah sputters out a shocked laugh. “Why?”

“Because of the line in your bio. You really should cite that, by the way, or people will think you coined it.”

Leah snorts. “No one would ever mistake my writing for Virginia Woolf’s.”

“Still. It’s academically honest.”

Leah tilts her head to the side. It lets Fatin see that same book from yesterday, _The Nature of Her,_ on her desk again. Leah’s using her middle finger as a bookmark while her other hand curls protectively over the soon to be worn-out cover. “Real stickler for academic honesty, huh?”

Fatin thrums her nails against her pink laptop case and shrugs. “Maybe I want more people to see the Virginian light.”

“Did you just -”

“Does her fanbase have another name?” 

“I think we go by _Woolfs,_ actually,” Leah responds, matching Fatin’s solemn voice. “You know? So we’re like Virginia’s wolves? Oh, don’t give me a pity laugh.”

“That wasn’t a pity laugh,” Fatin huffs, even though it absolutely was. 

“Right, like you following me last night wasn’t a _pity follow_?” 

“You clearly weren’t that offended since you accepted!”

“Maybe it was a pity acceptance.”

“Was it?” Fatin rests her chin in her palm, watches Leah look away from Fatin then back at her again with clearer, focussed eyes. 

“Guess who finally has the car today!” 

Fatin nearly jumps at the sound of Audrey’s voice. She recovers quickly, forcing a smile that doesn’t take much effort with how utterly exuberant her best friend looks today. Audrey sinks into her seat next to Fatin and drops her backpack onto the floor.

“I can’t give you a ride home, though,” Audrey says apologetically, “but I will explain why over lunch, on me. Your choice today. Should we get something to drink before or after -” Her eyes glaze over Fatin to Leah. Surprise flickers across her face as she points her finger between the two. “Oh. I’m sorry, was I interrupting something?”

Leah shakes her head. “Nope.” She glances at Fatin before she turns around, tucking her hair behind her ear. She flips through her book, seemingly settles on a random page, and traces her thumb over the lengthy scribbles of annotations.

Fatin’s throat dries. Panic rattles around in her chest, faster than she can catch it.

But then Audrey tugs gently on one of the aqua blue bangles on Fatin’s wrist. “So? Lunch sounds okay?”

“Oh, yeah, of course, girl. But what’s up? Are you okay? I’m staying after school in the library until five anyway, so don’t worry about the ride. I’ll swallow my dignity and ask my mom to pick me up. If she’s going to take my car away as the stupidest punishment possible, then she can deal with the consequences of _her_ actions for a change.”

“Solid plan, babe. And yeah, don’t you worry about me. We’ll talk at lunch.”

A loud wolf-whistle alerts them to Brent’s presence. He drops into his seat, the smugness in his grin disgusting Fatin on every level - morally, ethically, physically, spiritually. “Hey, ladies, that’s -”

“Shut the fuck up,” Audrey spits.

Fatin drains his smugness for himself, allowing it to spill over in her voice as she says, “Careful or you’ll lose your only lead performance.”

“Oh, fuck off, Fatin, you -”

Sorraine walks in then, stares at Brent, and sighs. “Oh my god.” 

Fatin swears she hears Leah laughing into the back of her hand.

.

.

.

“Fatin? Fatin, wake up.”

“Mm, fuck off.”

“Okay, I’m going to assume that’s your exhaustion talking.”

“Nooo, I’m telling you to fuck off. Please.”

“Yeah, no, somehow that please is just worse. Fatin. _Wake up_. You’re drooling on your keyboard.”

And that’s when it clicks that Fatin isn’t face-down in her bed and her mother isn’t interrupting her from a post-practice nap. 

No, she’s face-down on her keyboard, her back slumped over, her hoop earring digging into her cheek, her nose smushed against the spacebar, and her mouth hung open with dried drool everywhere. All of this is made worse when Fatin peeks up at the source of the voice and finds Leah, perfectly gorgeous even with her smudged mascara and the uncovered pimple dotting her nose.

Somehow none of this is as embarrassing as the concerned furrow of Leah’s eyebrows.

“Don’t pity me,” Fatin grumbles. She hisses at the harsh fluorescent lighting of their school’s library and rubs furiously at her eyes, messing up her eyeshadow and mascara even more. She’s too tired to care but that just saddens her more. “Don’t look at me, either. I look like a hot fucking mess.”

“It’s just drool. Everyone does it, you know.”

Fatin sits up, slowly rolling her shoulders, and scowls at the sharp pain that jolts across her back. “Does _everyone_ fall asleep on their laptop after school?” She touches her cheek. Another wave of misery crashes over her as she feels the imprint of her keyboard. “And my fucking screen is still turned on. How do I have three pages of f’s, t’s, and ... question marks? How the fuck did I make _question marks_ in my sleep?”

Leah peers closer at Fatin’s screen. Fatin finally looks away from her keyboard and realizes that Leah’s by herself.

They both are.

The entire library is empty.

Even the librarian is gone.

“Maybe your subconscious was trying to send a message?” Leah suggests. 

Fatin throws one final scornful look at her laptop before she slides the screen shut. “F for fuck, t for this. How accurate.”

Leah snorts. She adjusts one strap of her backpack and clears her throat. She has that same book tucked between her arm and stomach. Fatin opens her mouth, not knowing what she wants to say other than she’ll figure it out once she’s halfway done her sentence, but Leah speaks first. “The librarian left a minute ago. I told her I’d wake you up and she set the door so it’ll lock once we leave.”

“Damn. You have an in with the librarian?”

“Um, I think it’s less about her trust in me and more about her trusting that she did _not_ want to wake you up.” Leah starts to smile, sharp with amusement, and tilts her head to the library’s entrance. “I can still fuck off if you want?”

“No, I didn’t mean it, don’t - oh,” Fatin says. “You’re mocking me.”

“Just a little.”

Fatin swallows back a smile and runs a hand through her hair, absentmindedly patting down her flyaways. “I liked it better when you told me I was drooling.”

“Okay. You were drooling.”

“Fuck off,” Fatin says without any heat. “And I meant it this time.” She suppresses a sigh of relief that Leah knows to take it as a joke, warming at the sound of Leah’s melodic laughter that fills the otherwise silent library. It’s a nice laugh, quiet and low, but she does it with her entire body. 

“Thanks for waking me up,” Fatin adds genuinely. “I would’ve felt like shit if I’d sworn at Gertrude but I feel better about swearing at you.”

“You’re very welcome.”

Fatin starts to pack up. She tucks her laptop into her backpack, zips it up, takes the last swig of the pink drink she’d bought with Audrey at lunch, and stands to full height. Up this close, she notices that Leah’s a little taller than her. She doesn’t know what to do with that information except forget how to speak for a painful three seconds. 

“Should probably get going then,” Fatin says at last. “I’m sure you have more disgruntled hot messes to wake up.”

“You’re my last for today, so I’m officially off.” 

They fall into a steady pace, side-by-side, their arms nearly touching as they bound towards the library’s doors. Fatin goes through the doors first while pulling her phone out of her back pocket. She checks her missed notifications while instinctively holding the door open.

“Oh, _fuck_ you.”

Leah pauses mid-doorway. Her mouth hangs open. “Uh, sorry? Did you not want me to walk open that, should I, like, step back -”

“My mother takes away the keys to my car because I broke curfew by almost three hours, _one fucking time_ , and now when, surprise surprise, I need her to pick me up, she can’t. I can either wait here for thirty minutes after my dad picks up my brother from his karate class _or_ wait an hour after my mom’s done her meeting. Amazing. Perfect. Great. A shitty day made even shittier! Just what I needed.” 

Fatin knows she’s devolving into hysteria. She’s yelling. Her make-up is probably ruined. And her only day off from cello practice has pretty much been wasted by two hours of drooling in a public library.

Also, a girl she barely knows is witnessing her trying hard not to cry. 

“Fatin?”

Fatin tries to think back to the breathing exercises her yoga instructor starts every class with. She screws her eyes shut, coves her face with her hands. She doesn’t want to see whatever look of disgust mixed with sympathy must currently be on Leah’s face. 

“Please ignore me, Leah. I should’ve taken my horoscope more seriously today; it _warned_ me that I would have bad luck with the most unexpected consequences.”

“... Your mom telling you to wait for a ride is the _most_ unexpected consequence?”

Fatin opens one eye. Leah looks like she’s trying not to smile but is clearly failing. She also isn’t looking at Fatin with anything but a strange amount of softness. It’s unsettlingly nice, makes it easy for Fatin to stop hiding her face and open her other eye. 

Leah roots around the pocket of her jeans. She dangles a set of keys with a Mickey Mouse keychain hanging from the ring. “I can drive you if you want.”

Fatin has to try harder not to cry now. Even if the reasons for her tears are completely different now, she still worries that she’d look just as questionable as she had before if she began to bawl because of a small act of kindness.

“Yes,” Fatin says. She can’t remember that breathing technique but, as she draws in an even breath, she doesn’t need it anymore. “I want.”

.

.

.

“So what’s the deal with the book?”

Leah’s poker-face is almost good. She knows how to feign mild confusion, to not visibly tense her shoulders, to keep her grip around the steering wheel from tightening. 

But her eyes betray everything. It’s not a discernible quality, nothing Fatin could verbalize. Just something she can feel from how intently she’s looking at Leah from the passenger seat.

“What book?” Leah asks. 

Fatin likes Leah enough not to call her out on her lie. She plays along, running her finger down the spine of her copy of _The Science of Her_ sitting in the car’s console. “This one. You carry it with you all the time. But you’ve written all over it so you’ve definitely already read it. What gives?”

Leah keeps her eyes trained on the road. Her jaw clenches. “It’s a good book. I’m rereading it.”

“Really?”

“Yup.”

“ _Really_?”

“Yes,” Leah says curtly.

The car in the car thickens. Fatin swallows, wishing she could take those words and shove them back into her throat. But she can’t, and Leah’s eyes are hardened, her teeth sunk into her lower lip hard. Fatin would push except she’s pushed enough with Leah for two days. 

She barely knows her so it’s not really a loss. More of a what-if that will bother Fatin for an hour until her cello group-chat buzzes or one of her friends invite her to sneak out tonight - whichever comes first. 

So Fatin shrugs it off, sinks further into her seat, and fiddles with the largest ring on her middle finger. It’s another twenty minutes until they reach her house but she can ride out the silence.

Okay, she can ride out the silence with her phone.

Several minutes later, Leah interrupts Fatin’s Twitter scrolling by clearing her throat. She glances at Fatin but the moment Fatin returns her gaze, semi-startled but mostly curious, Leah looks back to the road. “I’m totally going to regret this,” Leah prefaces. 

Fatin grins delightedly. She inches closer, tucks her knees up on the seat to get closer to Leah even if they’re already less than a foot apart by virtue of being in the same car. 

“You know the author of this book?” Leah asks.

“Obviously. Everyone knows him. Ms. Wolfe’s star-student, our school’s shiny-bright alumni.”

“Alumnus.”

“Leah,” Fatin says, pained. 

“Right, yeah, sorry, okay, so. Jeff and I, we - he and I, we -”

Fatin notices the flush creeping down Leah’s neck and promptly loses her shit. “You’re _fucking_ Jeffrey Garanis?”

“Fatin, it’s _Gal_ anis, and okay, maybe not scream that, my windows are down -”

“Damn, girl.” Fatin claps Leah’s shoulder companionably, drawing out Leah’s shy half-smile. She waits until Leah stops at a red-light to politely demand, “Tell me everything. How was the sex? Was it hot?

Leah laughs again, but it’s short and jagged. The light changes green. She turns left, her thumbnails digging into the steering wheel. “Yeah. But like, in a burning building kind of way. Probably good that I got out when I did. It was last year, so it's old news. Doesn't matter anymore. You won’t tell anyone will you?”

Fatin mimes zipping up her lips and throwing an imaginary key out of the car window. “Don’t worry. So what hooked you up with some author last year? I got you. I won’t tell your boyfriend.”

“My what?”

“That dude.”

“Well, thank you for clarifying - oh. Ian?”

“Clearly I don’t know his name, Leah, so how do I answer that?”

Leah retrieves her phone from within the car’s console and shows Fatin her lock-screen. “Is this that dude?”

The photo is of said dude and Leah in a kitchen. He’s trying to feed her a slice of chocolate cake with his hands. Frosting decorates Leah’s nose and lines her eyebrows. She looks fondly exasperated as he laughs with his nose crinkled. 

“Yeah,” Fatin says. “Wait, is he _not_ your boyfriend?”

Leah makes a sour face. “No. He’s Ian. My best friend.”

“Ooooooooh. And he knows that, right?”

“Does my best friend know he’s my best friend?”

“No, like - does he know that’s _it_?”

“Of course he does,” Leah says, but her voice wavers. “I mean, he knows. What happened. With Jeff.”

“Is he the only other person who knows?”

“Yeah. I don’t know if Jeff’s told anyone, but I mean, I figure he wouldn’t - I don’t know.”

“For sure, for sure. So that means I’m, like -” Fatin places her hand over her heart with a grin. “The only other person you’ve told?”

“Wear it with pride,” Leah confirms. 

“Wow. Fuck yeah, I will. But, not to say you shouldn’t have, but why tell _me_?”

“Great question.” Leah glances around, checks the cars above and behind them as if they could hear what she was saying. “I mean this in the most non-judgmental way possible.”

“Wonderful start.”

“But I felt like you’d maybe, I don’t know, get it?”

“As in I seem like I’ve fucked a thirty-year-old? What does _that_ mean?”

“ _No_ , that’s not what I meant. I mean, well, I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation yesterday with Audrey. About how you measured that college guy’s dick.”

“Mhm.”

“And so I felt like you wouldn’t be judgy about my thing.”

Fatin hums as they pass the McDonald’s that’s always served as a checkpoint to her whenever she’s driving from school back home. Five minutes until they reach Fatin’s house. “Valid conclusion. Did you, like, want advice or my opinion or?”

“No, no,” Leah says quickly. “I just. I don’t know what I wanted. But you don’t have to say anything, I guess? Sorry, this is probably so fucking weird to tell you like -”

Fatin shakes her head. “Don’t stress. I’m flattered you told me. Really. And I can get it, reliving your sex-capades by reading his novel. No worries.”

“Good. Great. Thanks.”

They fall back into another silence but this time, Fatin doesn’t mind. She doesn’t turn the radio on or use her phone or stare out her car window. Her hands folded in her lap and her mind comfortably quiet, she looks ahead at the road ahead with Leah for the rest of the ride.

.

.

.

6:27 pm

 **fatinj:** thanks again for the ride today girl 💋 

6:40 pm

 **lee-uh.rilke:** No problem. 

6:44 pm

 **lee-uh.rilke:** Thanks for listening to me talk about him.

7:17 pm

 **fatinj:** ofc!!

_Read at 7:18 pm._

Fatin expects it to end there.

It doesn’t.

10:45pm

 **lee-uh.rilke:** Very random question

 **lee-uh.rilke:** Totally not prompted by me looking through your account

 **lee-uh.rilke:** But I’m just realizing you play the cello and you’re insanely good at it 

**lee-uh.rilke:** Okay maybe not a question 

That’s how it starts. At least, that’s how it starts the first time around. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a little weird and very soft and self-indulgent but this idea launched into my head and wouldn't leave. thank u for reading!! i'd love to know what u thought!! come say hi on tumblr i'm @trulyalpha!! love you talk soon bye


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing Fatin says to Leah the next day, upon arriving at their Philosophy classroom, is: “You know my secret.”

Leah looks up from her ex-hookup’s book. She seems caught-off guard. For a split-second, Fatin worries she might have misread their conversation yesterday in Leah’s car. 

But then Leah shut her book with an almost smile. “Is it really a secret if it’s why you go to this school?”

“Shh,” Fatin hisses even though there are only five other students in the classroom, all on their phones. She takes her seat behind Leah. “Yes, it’s why I go here but be _chill_ about it.”

Leah sits backwards in her seat and faces Fatin. “Why?”

“Because it’s not a big deal.”

“You’re, like, ranked, and clips of your performances, performances in actual _concert halls_ , are on the school website, and you’ve won awards -” Leah cuts herself off with a pained look. “Okay, I can’t play that off like I didn’t internet-stalk you last night. But it was mild. I swear. I ... will stop talking now.”

“You don’t have to stop talking even though you’re rambling and embarrassed.” Fatin fidgets with her pink crop-top, tracing over the words ‘already over it’ stitched in cursive. “But, like. No cello talk please.”

“But you’re talented,” Leah argues. Fatin wants to laugh. She’s not talented. Her parents just have more than enough money to spend on the best teachers, classes, and schools and wanted their daughter to have at least one thing she excelled at. So six-year-old Fatin chose cello. And seventeen-year-old Fatin can’t possibly quit now because what else would be left for her? 

That’s all there is to it.

Leah doesn’t seem to agree. “Why be ashamed of that?”

“I’m not ashamed.” It’s not a lie, but it doesn’t take the shape of a truth either. It falls somewhere in the middle. Fatin doesn’t what to determine exactly where that is. The most complicated relationship she has in her life is between her and her cello. The more she thinks about it, the more complicated it gets, so she doesn’t let herself go further than what’s true. 

She’s good at it. She’s committed to it. She’s all in. Nothing else can matter. 

“I just like to keep things separate,” Fatin continues. This feels more honest. “I play the cello when I play the cello, you know? I’m not some cello prodigy when I’m trying not to fall asleep to Sorraine’s rambling about, like, Descartes.”

Leah nods slowly. “Makes sense. Sorry.”

“For what? Bringing up the reason I’m at this school which, as your ‘mild’ stalking proved, is public knowledge?” Fatin reaches forward and knocks Leah’s elbow with hers. “Don’t sweat it. We now just have blackmail for each other now. But that’s how all the best friendships start.”

“Best friendships?” Leah repeats.

Fatin fiddles with her hoop earring, unsure of how to proceed. She says a lot of shit without thinking but she also never says something she doesn’t mean. Aren’t she and Leah kind of friends right now? They don’t have to suddenly have sleepovers, inside-jokes, and a secret handshake but Fatin just figured ...

“Um,” Fatin says intelligibly. Her A in English now feels unearned. 

“That’s cool,” Leah blurts. She blinks. Shuts her eyes briefly with the most pained expression Fatin has ever seen. “Speaking _of_ best friends, where’s yours?” 

“Oh, Audrey’s actually in Florida right now! Her grandmother had this _huge_ surgery without telling anyone, so they flew out last-minute to be with her. She landed this morning, said her grandma will be just fine, but she’ll still be there for three weeks. So I’ll be dying in the library during lunch for the next three weeks.”

“Don’t you have other friends?” Leah sighs. “Um. That didn’t mean to sound as bitchy as it did.”

Fatin laughs. “I do. But - I don’t know, I guess it’s not the same without Audrey. Which is probably alarmingly codependent of me but that’s Future Me’s problem. That bitch can address it more thoroughly when she’s, like, off to college.”

Leah’s mouth quirks into a smile. “Where you’ll be studying and playing -” She glances around for show before leaning in and mock-whispering, “Cello at the pro-level?” Her breath smells minty, her perfume citrusy, all so clean and close and a few breaths away from Fatin that Fatin forgets to pretend to be annoyed.

.

.

.

The same way they’d begun talking, their friendship just - happens. And keeps happening.

They talk at the beginning and end of Philosophy class. After, Fatin walks Leah to her next-period Calculus class. (After her second late-slip from Madame, Fatin learns that running to make it to French on time is an unfortunate necessity if she doesn’t want to piss her French teacher _and_ her mom off even more than she already has.)

Fatin regularly bumps into Leah at the library during lunch. They’ll start talking, and then Leah will pull up a chair and sit next to her. They’ll both have their own textbooks, binders, and homework that never get touched.

She finally learns Ian’s name from how he hangs around them several lunches a week. He’s clearly unsure of what to do with Fatin there but he tries anyway. Fatin appreciates his bad jokes and comments that arrive a half-second too late.

Every day, after school, Leah drives both Ian and Fatin home. 

(“If you want, since you can’t drive yourself and Audrey’s not here to drive you too,” Leah said the first time she offered Fatin a ride. “But obviously if that’s weird -”

“Nonono, not weird. But only if you don’t mind.”

“Would I ask you if I minded?”

“Can you let me be polite?” 

“Can you let _me_ be polite and accept my offer?”

“Can _you_ -”

This lasted an embarrassingly long amount of time. Ian, bless his soul, waited patiently in the passenger seat of Leah’s car and pretended not to be eavesdropping.)

Ian lives closer to the school so he’s dropped off first. Once he’s gone, Fatin takes his spot in the passenger seat. She connects her phone via the Bluetooth feature, introduces Leah to the likes of Doja Cat and Megan Thee Stallion, and sometimes sings obnoxiously loud to the words. 

Other times, though, they just talk. Stupid things about their day. Complaints about Sorraine. Complaints about cello practice. Complaints about Leah’s calculus class. Complaints about Fatin’s mother. Complaints -

Okay, that sounds like all they do is complain. That’s not true. They just complain a lot. There are the bits of sunlight from their own lives they trade back and forth, positives that outweigh their negatives.

For Leah, it’s her friendship with Ian. The soul-close kinship they’ve built together all the lives. It’s her endearingly embarrassing parents. Their Friday night board games and family walks on Sunday mornings, both of which Leah’s been ditching lately. It’s her dog, Chester, who’s always the first one to greet Leah when he arrives home. It’s Virginia Woolf and how reading her poetry at twelve-years-old changed Leah entirely, inspired her journals of scribbled poetry she insists is “stupid teenage angst” that she’ll never let anyone read.

Of course, Leah doesn’t phrase it like that. These are scattered details that Leah divulges over different days, different conversations in her car on the way to drop Fatin off, through their messages through Instagram, in the back-table at their school’s library, on their walk to Leah’s calculus class. Details Fatin has collected and stitched together to weave together the image of Leah. The Leah she knows, at least. The one she’s come to learn over three weeks of a comfortable closeness that’s been so wonderfully easy to fall into. 

Fatin's not sure how many pieces she’s given Leah to form her own picture. She isn’t sure of a lot of things. Like what Leah sees when she looks at her. What Leah thinks of her, what Leah likes about her, what exactly Leah is drawn to. 

It doesn’t completely bother her. She knows it’s a baffling friendship. 

Audrey hasn’t said it outright through their constant texts and phone calls. Fatin feels it all the same when Audrey asks, as sweetly as she can, “Oh, you hung out with Leah again?” Or “okay, but what do you guys like, even _do_ together?” after Fatin tells her what they like, _do_ together. Audrey means well. She just hasn’t seen them together.

It’s like with Ian. His bewilderment by Fatin’s sudden insertion in his time with Leah during lunch-break and their after-school rides was strong at first but soon faded a few days in. He knows that there’s nothing weird about this friendship, as sudden as it is, because he’s seen it up close. 

He’s eased up around Fatin. Even says hi to her in the hallways with a genuine and dorky smile when Leah isn’t there to mandate it. 

Fatin still thinks there’s a part of Ian that doesn’t get it. That’s fair. There’s a part of her that doesn’t really get it either. It’s so disconnected from the rest of her life that it doesn’t feel entirely real. 

Leah’s never been in Fatin’s house, or met her family, or seen her play her cello in real life and outside a few clips. 

Leah doesn’t know the rest of Fatin’s friends, the ones Fatin meets up with for last-minute parties and late-night drives who, in turn, don’t know Leah. 

They don’t hang out outside of school outside of their after-school car rides. 

Fatin isn’t ashamed of her. She likes this tentative and new thing rapidly unfolding between them. Maybe she doesn’t know exactly what it is. Does she need to, to want to see it through?

If Leah is already a piece of Fatin’s life after a few weeks’ worths of late-night text-messages, folded-notes exchanged in Philosophy - because Leah likes the simplicity of it over secretly texting - which are mostly just their awful collaborative doodles, pit-stops at the same McDonald’s for McFlurries in between dropping Ian off and reaching Fatin’s house, Fatin sending Leah TikToks knowing she’ll hate them, Leah somehow dredging up painfully old photos and clips of Fatin’s performances, then won’t it only get better?

How could it not?

.

.

.

Fatin focuses on the perfect burning in her fingertips as she plays. Her eyes are shut, her mind clear. The universe is nothing but her and her cello.

And her mother lingering by Fatin’s bedroom doorway. She so obviously thinks Fatin can’t tell that she’s watching her. 

Fatin lets her have it until the end of her piece. She opens her eyes, directly lands her gaze on her mom, and keeps her fingers in place. “What, no applause?”

Her mom’s still in her work-clothes from this evening’s listing. A white blouse, a red skirt matching her neat red lipstick, and her hair pinned back. It’s in weird moments like these where Fatin can easily see herself in her mother, the version of her that Fatin could become in three decades. Elegant, graceful, but still extremely attractive. Fatin means that in the best, not-weirdest way in regards to talking about her mom.

She wonders what her mom sees reflected back at her when she sees her daughter. With the certainty that Fatin only has for a select few things - her enormous capabilities as a cellist, that she and Audrey will always have their perfectly messy friendship, that her father loves and likes her in equal measure - Fatin knows her mom is never disappointed in who she is.

Sure, they’ll scream about what dress Fatin should wear for her performances and how she should practice more and set a better example for her brothers’ by arguing and swearing less. Her mother will be annoyed, upset, frustrated, and mad.

But not disappointed. 

Fatin’s dad likes her. Fatin’s mom gets her.

It’s a thing.

Case in point. At Fatin’s dry comment, her dad would applaud her, whistle, cheer, exaggerating as much as possible.

But her mom responds like this. She steps further into Fatin’s room, sits at the edge of Fatin’s bed, and tells her, slow with sincerity, “You’re phenomenal. Sometimes I ask myself if it’ll ever get old, hearing you play, but then I do hear you and I know it never will. You shine. But you know that.”

Fatin forces a shrug as she tucks her cello away into its case. She turns her back to her mother to hide the face-splitting grin she lets take up her face for just a second. “I like validation. Fucking sue me.”

“Watch your language.”

“You’re literally the only other person in this room. Who cares?”

“I do.”

Fatin spins around, a half-glare wrinkling her face. “Why?”

Her mother crosses her legs and sighs. “Because it’s -”

“If you say unladylike, I’ll scream.”

“If you interrupt me again, _I’ll_ scream.”

Fatin snorts and reluctantly settles next to her mother on her bed. “Okay, fine. Go ahead. Give me an actual reason not to swear that isn’t rooted in double-standards and some outdated bullshit.”

“Is ‘I’m your mom and I’d appreciate it if you kept the illusion of you not swearing up for me’ justifiable enough? I’m not asking you to never swear, just not in front of your brothers, father, and me.”

Fatin deeply hates herself for actually seeing where her mom is coming from. “Okay. Fine. I’ll keep that illusion up for ya.”

Her mom gently squeezes Fatin’s knee. “I think this is the only time you’ve ever agreed with me on something.”

“Enjoy it while you can.”

Her mother smiles, amused. She tucks some of the strands that have escaped Fatin’s ponytail behind her hair. Fatin basks in the feeling of gentleness carved into her heart, made even sweeter when her mom retracts her hand and rests it across Fatin’s back.

Her dad is chronically allergic to knocking, a condition that unfortunately plagues everyone in the family _but_ Fatin. That’s why she isn’t really surprised that he opens her door without an announcement. “Oh, good! You told her.”

Fatin’s blood runs cold. Her back burns underneath her mom’s touch. She jumps to her feet and steps away from her mother. “Told. Me. _What_?”

“I told you.” Her mother glares at her dad. “You had to tell her. That she would lose it if I did.”

“Tell me fucking _what_!?”

Her father leaps into action. He lowers Fatin’s hands right as she starts to raise them and gesture wildly. “Sweetheart, you have practice tomorrow.”

Fatin tenses but she doesn’t flinch away from her father’s touch. “No, I don’t. I had practice today, and I have practice all weekend. We have - we have a _deal,_ no back-to-back group-practices when I have school. That makes for four fucking practices in a row. You promised.”

“We know, dear.” Her father smiles weakly at her. “But with your performance in June, your mother it’d be best to slot more practice-time in now before you’re swamped with exams.”

“Fuck that,” she spits. Her throat already feels raw. Her breathing comes out jagged as she looks between her parents. “Audrey’s coming back tomorrow night. We have plans.”

“ _Plans_ can be rescheduled,” her mother patronizes.

“She’s been gone for three fucking weeks, worried her grandmother will either die now or the second she’s back here. Forgive me for wanting to give her some comfort and some goddamn levity.” Fatin finally rips apart from her dad and pushes him away from her. She crosses her arms, stands tall, and curls her callused fingers over her thumbs in fists that remain by her sides. “No, you’re right. I should just say fuck it to everything and everyone who’s not cello. Maybe I should drop out of school too? That’ll give me _way_ more time to practice, won’t it?”

Her mother stands sharply at that. Her cool demeanour finally slips. “Don’t even joke about that. You can see Audrey after your practice.”

“No, I can’t. She can only see her boyfriend after I’m done my practice and I’m not about to interrupt that. And before you tell me the weekend exists - which I know already, thanks - her parents want her to spend all of it at home, catching up on school.”

“All I heard from that,” Her mom says. Fatin is already distressingly irritated. “Is that you can see her on Monday.”

Fatin’s parents both stare at her, her mother visibly frustrated, her father visibly tensed. They look at her like they’re waiting for her to explode. 

And god, is Fatin already fucking there. Her migraine is back in full-swing, throbbing and taking up all the space in her head. Her calluses ache, her palms sensitive. Isn’t her past and continuous success enough? Why does she have to keep proving she’s good when she already has, over and over again? 

She knows she’s probably being immature. But isn’t that allowed? She gets to argue and push and poke and they have to love her through it because she makes it worth it.

Doesn’t she?

So Fatin tends to the scream building in the base of her throat, and opens her mouth, and -

Finds her brothers peeking into her room. Their heads poke into the room, nearly stacked over one another from how close they stand. 

And just like that, the sight of their small chubby faces and huge eyes drains all the anger out of her. 

“Fine,” Fatin says. “But I’m going out Saturday night. You’re extending my curfew.”

“Fatin,” her mother starts but her father speaks over her.

“By how much?”

“Two am.”

Her mother barks out a laugh. “No way.”

“One am.”

“Fatin,” her father says, “aim lower.”

“Twelve-thirty and that’s my final bid.” 

Her dad raises an eyebrow at her mom. Fatin now notices the lack of space between them. His arm around is her. He rubs her arm as if _she’s_ the one that needs to be reassured right now. Typical.

“C’mon, let her be a kid, just this once,” he murmurs.

“Fine,” her mother relents.

Fatin plasters on a tight smile. She claps then gestures to her door. “Alright, thanks for that. Now please leave and appreciate that I didn’t scream that _and_ that I said please.”

“Fatin, you know we love you.” Her mother takes a tentative step forward towards Fatin. 

Fatin automatically steps back, her arms crossed, her chin tipped up. “I know. See you in the morning.”

Her mother bites her lip, smearing her lipstick. She looks almost uncomfortable by Fatin’s forced civility which just bothers Fatin more. But she nods, once, and leaves. 

Her dad stays back. He extends his hand towards Fatin. She lets him pull her close, wrap his arms around her, and envelop her in a hug. His beard scratches her forehead with the kiss he presses there. She sinks into his embrace and ignores the stray tear that falls from her eyes.

“I love you,” he mumbles into her hair.

“Love you too.”

.

.

.

As if the following Friday can’t get any shittier, Leah isn’t in Philosophy.

Fatin texts her at the beginning of class. She subsequently misses everything that Sorraine says from how constantly she checks her phone for a response that never comes.

She still makes the walk to Leah’s calculus class anyway. Not that she figured Leah would be there but because -

“Ian!” Fatin calls out, striding into his classroom. 

The teacher hasn’t arrived yet and there are a few minutes left until the next period starts. Ian still looks panicked when she approaches him at his seat in the middle row. “Fatin? What’re you doing here? Is everything okay?”

“No! Where’s Leah!?”

“Oh,” Ian says. “She’s, um, she’s not having a great day.”

“Mkay, me neither. Are _you_ having a great day?”

“Well, it’s okay, so far, but - okay, I get your point. But you know, she’s ... been having a rough year.”

 _She has_? Fatin has enough restraint not to ask that aloud. 

But her confusion must be written all over her face because Ian says, kindly, “Don’t feel bad about anything. You’ve only been friends for a few weeks so it’s not weird you wouldn’t notice or if she hasn’t said anything. She barely likes talking about it with me. And she’s had a really good few weeks. Kinda like she’s gone back to her old self, you know? I thought, for a minute there, maybe she was in a good place again, for good, but I don’t know. I guess she needs more time. And a day away from it all.”

The bell rings. Fatin doesn’t move, her feet rooted to the floor. Her chest feels like it’s cracking open. 

“But,” Fatin says, suddenly dizzy, “she’ll be okay?”

Ian’s smile is small but enormously earnest. Fatin believes him before he even speaks. “She’ll be okay.”

.

.

.

Fatin finally hears back from Leah later that day. Leah calls her ten minutes before she has to leave the house for practice.

“Leah! You _called_ me!”

“I didn’t exactly know how else to respond to your many frantic texts from the day.” Leah’s voice is a little hoarser than usual but she still sounds like herself. Fatin can hear the smile in her voice.

Fatin plops onto one of the stools set at her kitchen counter. She peruses the bowl of fruit in front of her and hums happily. “They weren’t frantic.”

“Your most recent text had forty exclamation marks.”

“You _counted_?”

“I was bored. And, like, weirdly touched that you sent so many.”

“Aw, well, I’m glad.” Fatin plucks a banana, scratches idly at the sticker taped to its centre. “Are you feeling better? Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah. Just a nasty cold.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. Lots of snot, like, everywhere -”

“Mm, okay, thank you.”

“And so brightly green too? I can send you a picture if you want -”

“Leah?”

“Yes, Fatin?”

“Do you want _me_ to be sick?”

“Of course not,” Leah says so solemnly that Fatin honest to god giggles. It briefly alarms her. Not just because of how high-pitched she was but how pure the sound is, so completely her that she doesn’t quite recognize herself. “But I’m okay now. I’ll be back Monday.”

“How about tomorrow?”

“Hmm?”

“So there’s this party,” Fatin says. “It’s dumb and high school. So ... am I incorrect in guessing that you’ve never been to one?”

“You are rudely correct.”

Another giggle. Fatin catches herself and stops abruptly. She needs to relax. “So wanna be my plus one? Audrey’ll be stuck at home, my other friends’ll be there so you can properly meet them, and it could be fun.”

While Fatin waits for a response, she thrums her fingers against the cool marble-top counter. A glance at the clock above their stove tells her she’ll need to leave in five minutes. Distantly, she hears her brothers’ laughter followed by the canned laughter of a Disney sitcom. Fatin’s smile is automatic. It’s a weird quality both of her brothers share, how they always laugh a split-second too early before the joke has fully landed.

After a long beat, Leah says, “Okay.”

“ _What_?”

“Why do you sound so shocked?”

“I figured I’d have to convince you. I had a whole speech lined out with my three main ports, supporting evidence, intro and conclusion. Girl. I put in so much work thinking about this.”

“Well, I’m very proud of you,” Leah says. “And I appreciate the effort. But no need. I’ll go with you. Why not try something new, right?”

“Fucking wonderful, Leah. You’ll have a great time. I’ll make sure of it,” Fatin promises. She hops off of the stool and bounces on her tiptoes, vibrating with excitement. She doesn’t even cringe when she giggles again.

Leah’s chuckle crackles over the line. “I do have one condition, though. You’ve gotta send me a video of you playing a complete piece on the cello. I like the clips you’ve begrudgingly shown me and the ones I’ve found on your Instagram account and the school website. But I want a full performance.”

“You little extortionist,” Fatin accuses, feigning irritation even though inside, she’s glowing. 

.

.

.

The next day, Leah picks Fatin up at eight pm. 

When Fatin slides into the passenger seat, all she can think is this: looking at Leah is like looking at the sun. 

Leah has a little mascara on. Pink lipgloss, a touch or two of concealer. She’s wearing a white, red-laced blouse with a maroon zip-up hoodie over it and denim shorts. 

Fatin doesn’t know why her breath hitches. She doesn’t know what exactly it is about Leah that makes it seem like she’s shining tonight, bathing Fatin in her light, until Fatin realizes that it’s just Leah. Just Leah and her cold hand that splays over Fatin’s bare knee and her soft, half-amused, half-concerned smile lit up from the moonlight. 

“Fatin? You okay?”

Fatin musters up a grin and elbows Leah from across the car’s console. “I’m perfect and holy shit, so are you. You look gorgeous.”

Even in the dark of Leah’s car, Fatin can tell that she’s blushing. Still, Leah matches Fatin’s energy: she runs her hand down Fatin’s bare arm and insists, “Oh my god, shut up. You look unreal. Like a - like a painting. A masterpiece they’d hang up on a museum or something.”

“Are you already drunk?” Fatin teases. Warmth spreads from her heart to every inch of her body. 

Leah flips her off. Fatin just feels warmer.

.

.

.

Fatin doesn’t mean to get shit-faced. It just kind of happens. 

It doesn’t really hit her until partway through dancing with Leah in the centre of whoever the fuck’s living room they’re all crowded in. 

She doesn’t know where her other friends with. They’re here. She’s pretty sure. They’d started the night together. Not too long later, Fatin found that Leah had drifted off to the snack table. She was sulking there, biting her lip, staring at her phone, all by herself. It was a no-brainer to stick just by Leah’s side tonight. 

It didn’t take much to later convince Leah to dance. Fatin’s not sure how long it’s been since then. Except she’s sweating through her dress, and probably smells gross, and her throat is so dry. She’s so thirsty. When she turns suddenly in the direction of the kitchen, where the shots are lined up, she loses her balance. Stumbles. Trips. Falls. 

No one else is standing directly by them. Fatin and Leah are in their own bubble in the corner of the room, so her flailing arms and her feet don’t hit anyone else. Because of this, she also accepts her fate and braces for the hardwood floor.

But Leah catches her.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” Leah swears under her breath. But she laughs scratchily too, her breath hot against Fatin’s hair. Exhaling heavily, she helps Fatin to her feet. Their arms are slick with sweat and stick together. Leah is close again, comfortably so, and solid in how she effortlessly keeps Fatin upright. 

It makes it easy for Fatin to lean into her, hook her chin over her shoulder. 

“I might throw up soon,” Fatin murmurs drowsily. The song playing hasn’t changed but it starts to bang around in her head, re-inviting her migraine.

She can’t stand it anymore. Her stomach continuously flips. Everything from the bass, the thumps of feet against the floor, the overlapping conversations, and the putrid stench of sweat and cheap beer overwhelm her senses. She loops her arms around Leah’s neck and tries to drown out everything. Everything but Leah and her perfume and how she strokes Fatin’s hair with a tenderness that makes Fatin want to cry.

“How soon are we talking?” Leah sounds alarmed. She doesn’t disentangle from Fatin though. Just holds her more securely as if shielding her from the rest of the party. “Like right now or in ten minutes?”

“Like, five minutes?”

“Oh my, okay, um - how about we sit outside for a bit?” 

.

.

.

As they sit outside on the sidewalk, the neighbourhood silent save for their breathing and the distant noise from the party, Fatin’s wave of nausea eventually passes. It helps that her heels are off and tucked behind her. Out of sight and out of mind. And that Leah’s hand is still around her, her thumb stroking her shoulder. Fatin expects Leah to go on her phone but she never does, soaking in the quiet of the night with Fatin instead. 

After several minutes, Fatin brings herself to look Leah in the eye. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to get so -” She gestures to herself. Her hair half out of its ponytail, her flushed and damp skin, and her bare feet on the cool pavement. “I wanted to give you a good night.”

Leah looks unbearably soft in the mix of moonlight and streetlight. “But you did give me a good night.”

“No, I didn’t! I’m - I’m a mess, and I got all drunk, and you’re stuck watching over me. Which isn’t right because the whole point of the night was to cheer _you_ up!”

Leah’s eyebrows draw together. “Cheer me up from what?”

Fatin falters. She can’t throw Ian under the bus but she also can’t bring herself to act like she isn’t worried either. “Well, you’ve seemed a little ... down these past few days. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, I’m sure Ian’s got that covered, so I just? Wanted you to have a fun night!”

“What part are you not getting?” Leah squeezes Fatin’s shoulder before she shoves her hands in her hoodie’s pocket. “I am having a fun night. How could I not? I’m - I’m with _you_.”

“Oh,” Fatin says. She shouldn’t be surprised. Friends have fun together. That’s literally the point of friendship, but this feels different. This feels special. She hears the tentativeness in Leah’s voice, reads it easily in how Leah ducked her head as she spoke and stares at her worn-out sneakers. 

Fatin closes the half-inch of space between them. Their legs touch from foot to knee to hip. She taps Leah’s wrist firmly. “I’m with you, too.” It’s a dumb thing to say because yes, Leah is aware that Fatin’s here with her.

But Leah's head rises. Her eyes meet Fatin’s, her mouth spread into a fond smile that makes Fatin feel like she’s soaring. 

It is also why Fatin doesn’t notice her nausea’s resurgence until it’s too late. 

Their nice moment is sort of extremely undercut with Fatin vomiting by Leah’s feet. Leah promises Fatin none of it landed on her shoes. 

Fatin doesn’t believe her. She can’t confirm it for herself because, well, she’s too busy throwing up.

Leah makes a few strangled noises. Shame, for ruining Leah’s night, and embarrassment, because holy shit, this is a newfound level of disaster for Fatin, crash over Fatin in waves as she continues heaving.

But then Leah holds her hair back. Drapes a warm hand over Fatin’s back. And rides through it with her.

.

.

.

Leah’s house is a six-minute walk. Their original plan for the night was to walk back anyway and for Fatin to call a cab from Leah’s house. They follow step one. Fatin would rather throw up again than go through step two.

Not just because her mom will get one look at her and lose her shit over her visibly drunk daughter. But because it’s nearing two in the morning. 

Fatin realizes this while standing in the middle of Leah’s driveway. She promptly falls back-first onto Leah’s lawn.

“Fatin!” Leah’s startled cry rings throughout her neighbourhood.

“No, no, it’s okay.” Fatin spreads her arms out on the grass. The prickling against her arms and the back of her legs is almost nice. “I _chose_ to fall.”

Leah walks over to Fatin. She peers down at her. “Hm. Somehow that just worries me more.”

“I’m so fucking late. I missed my curfew by almost two hours.” Fatin laughs uncontrollably, clutching her stomach. “My mom is going to kill meeeee.”

Leah grunts as she bends and sits on her knees next to Fatin. Her eyebrows are furrowed but she laughs a little too. “She might hold your car hostage for a few more weeks. Ground you too. But she won’t kill you.” 

“I know.” Fatin sighs and turns over, pressing up against Leah. “But we’re going to argue. And get mad. And it’ll be a whole _thing_. I’m tired of making her mad at me. And oh my god, can you imagine if we’re arguing and I just? Throw up on her like I threw up on you? She would lose her mind. I’m going to make my mother _lose her mind_ -”

“Okay, okay,” Leah murmurs, “don’t worry. You won’t do any of that. Look, if you want, you can - you can prolong the argument ‘till tomorrow when you’ve sobered up and have better apologies and excuses by, um. Staying over at my house tonight? _If_ you want? My parents won’t mind, and if you don’t mind, like, sharing a bed with me, I have cold feet, but I can sleep with socks on -”

Fatin tackles Leah with a hug so fierce it knocks her onto the grass. But they end up rolling over so Fatin lands underneath her and hits the grass anyway. Her heart suddenly feels too big for her chest, swelling with Leah’s kindness, Leah’s laugh in her hair, Leah’s arms wrapping back around her, Leah, Leah, Leah.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, you’re the fucking best,” Fatin says, over and over, into the nape of Leah’s neck. She’s thankful that she can use her lack of sobriety to not feel embarrassed about tonight’s excessive affection. Even more thankful that Leah doesn’t shy away but embraces her back with equal earnestness.

“It’s nothing,” Leah says, a breathless laugh crackling over her words.

“It’s _not_.” Fatin knows they’ll have to pull apart and actually get up soon. So she lets herself have another moment of Leah’s body pressed flush against hers, in a hug that’s lasted far too long but could also never last long enough. Above them, the stars are spread out across the night sky, the moon a silver crescent. 

She can’t remember the last time a night felt this bright. 

.

.

.

Leah’s house is small, cozy, and lived-in. It also has the creakiest fucking staircase that Fatin has ever used in her life.

“Don’t apologize again,” Leah warns as she keeps a steady arm around Fatin. With their next step up the stairs, another creak hisses out from underneath their feet. “For the third time, my parents are heavy sleepers and we’re not sneaking in. They knew I’d come home a little late. I’m gonna wake them up anyway, just to tell them I’m home and you’re here, so it’s fine, okay?”

“Okay. I’m s -”

“Don’t apologize!”

“Okay ... I _feel_ apologetic,” Fatin corrects. “That’s not an apology, that’s an expression of my feelings, so if you tell me not to say that, you are denying me my emotions. Which is very wrong. And bad. That promotes the stigma. Don’t promote the stigma.”

Leah pokes Fatin’s stomach with a scoff as they finally step off the staircase from hell and reach the second floor. “Don’t promote teen drinking.”

“Well, then don’t _enable_ teen drinking -”

“Leah? Sweetheart?” 

Fatin freezes and claps her hand over her mouth. “OhmygodI’msorry.”

Dressed in a pink, flowing nightgown, a woman steps out from the second door ahead of them. It’s obvious that she’s Leah’s mom. But it only really clicks when she steps towards them and her crystal blue eyes warm when they land on Leah.

“Sorry for waking you,” Leah whispers. “I had a nice time, I’ll tell you about it tomorrow, but is it okay if Fatin stays over? Her parents had to leave town last-minute tonight and she’s kind of spooked to stay home by herself.”

“Oh, is everything okay, dear?”

Fatin blinks. It takes a few seconds to realize Mrs. Rilke is speaking to her. “Um, yes, they had - they _have,_ they currently have, um, a work thing. Tonight. At night. And at morning?”

“She’s very sad they’re gone,” Leah cuts in with a tight smile. “She gets lonely easily.”

“Hm, okay, easily is a weird way to put it -”

“Well, you’re welcome to spend the night.” Mrs. Rilke smiles as she rubs her eyes. “I can make you both some tea, if you’d like before I go back to -”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll make Fatin a cup.” Leah leaves Fatin’s side to walk to her mother. She nudges Mrs. Rilke back to her bedroom and says something else that Fatin can’t make out.

But she does make out Mrs. Rilke’s response. “Honey, your father will be so glad to hear you had a good time, and your new friend’s already sleeping over, how wonderful is that? We told you things would turn up soon, didn’t we?”

“Mom, please.”

“I’m just glad you’re feeling better, sweetheart.”

Fatin stills. She stares at the wooden floorboard beneath her, almost thankful that she can’t hear what Leah says next. 

After a few more exchanges, Mrs. Rilke kisses Leah’s forehead. Leah’s content sigh follows a second later.

“Very nice meeting you, Fatin,” Mrs. Rilke says. “My husband and I had the delight of hearing you play at your school’s winter concert back in December and god, you are phenomenal.” 

“It’s true.” Leah returns to Fatin’s side. Her arm doesn’t wind back around Fatin, probably because she doesn’t need help with her balance now that they’re upstairs. Fatin tries not to miss it. She fails.

“Thank you, Mrs. Rilke,” Fatin says clearly with effort. She tries to raise one eyebrow at Leah but ends up waggling both. “No thank you to you because you haven’t seen me play.” She hasn’t sent Leah the full-length video of her performing yet since she’d wanted to save it until after the party. She’d told Leah it was just because she needed to ensure Leah would stick the entire night out with her. In actuality, she’s just painfully nervous for Leah to see her play.

But Leah just bumps her shoulder and says with complete affection that Fatin cannot believe is for her, “Yeah, but you’re you. I don’t need to see you play to know that.”

.

.

.

Over the phone, Fatin’s father sounds disappointed. He assumes she’s staying at Audrey’s house, tells her he’s glad she’s being a good friend even though she shouldn’t have broken her curfew and told them this late. 

Fatin doesn’t correct him because she’s not an idiot. She’ll still be in trouble but this way, the blow will be just a little softer. 

“Your mom’s asleep,” he says, “so I’ll tell her in the morning.”

“Good luck with that,” she tells him before they say their goodnights and hang up. 

Fatin lays her phone on the bathroom counter. She gives herself a final glance in the mirror. Leah lent her some clothes to wear to bed. A fading gym shirt, required for their school’s phys-ed classes, and blue cotton shorts that are just right for the late April night. 

Fatin expected to feel completely strange in Leah’s clothes. But with her face bare from makeup, her hair brushed and tied into a ponytail, and Leah’s clothes hanging loosely from her body, she feels comfortable. 

She spends a long enough amount of time just staring at herself in Leah’s clothes that Leah knocks from the other side of the door. “Fatin? Are you okay? You’re taking a little longer than I thought you would.”

Fatin starts. She fidgets with the drawstrings of Leah’s shorts as she thinks of what to say. She’s certainly not going to tell Leah that she’d been staring at herself, refusing to give Leah _that_ ammo, so she whisper-shouts, “Um, I’m feeling _just a little_ sick. Not throwing up again sick but I’m gonna wait in case. Don’t worry! I’m good, girl!”

It’s a very solid, on-the-spot lie with her alcohol consumption considered. She feels proud of herself.

“Okay, I’ll be right back,” Leah replies. “Hang in there.”

Fatin waits two minutes before exiting Leah’s bathroom. She tiptoes down the hall and into the room with the door wide open as if inviting her in. From the second Fatin steps inside, it’s clear that she’s right. It’s Leah’s room. 

The light is turned on, an overhead fan spinning above her bed. Old family photographs, posters of different album covers Fatin doesn’t recognize, and a shelf half-filled with books and half-filled with clothes, binders, and knickknacks breathe life into the room. Clothes litter nearly every inch of the floor. On Leah’s nightstand, five plastic, nearly-empty water bottles crowd around her unplugged alarm clock. The comforter on her bed is twisted around her pillows. 

And, of course, that fucking book is here, in the centre of Leah’s bed. 

Fatin nears Leah’s bed, thrums her fingers along the book’s cover. Immediately, a wave of discomfort churns in her stomach. 

Fatin starts to wonder.

She opens the book. Turns to the first page. 

“Hey, I made you some tea, black for me, chamomile for you, hope you - what the fuck are you doing?” 

Fatin manages to stifle a shriek. She can’t help but jump back and drop Leah’s book. The violent crinkling of the pages from the angle they hit the floor is louder than Leah’s quiet, strangled, “Fatin, what the hell?”

Fatin can’t feel the floor beneath her feet. “You said you were just fucking him.”

Leah kicks her door shut. Her face twists and the breathless laughter from the lawn just twenty minutes ago is gone, replaced with the wild and frantic way she marches towards Fatin. There is devastation in her eyes and it clicks, now, that the devastation isn’t new. It’s just now rising back to the surface and this is the first time that Fatin has noticed it. 

“I didn’t say that.” Leah thrusts the mug of tea towards Fatin with a shaking hand. “You said it and I just - I didn’t correct you.”

“Leah ...” Fatin watches Leah retrieve her novel and set her mug of tea on the floor. Leah smooths the crinkled pages, the trembling in her hands now more pronounced. The distortedly jagged hope emanating from Leah as she rapidly flips through the pages rips Fatin into two. 

“Leah,” Fatin repeats. “What the hell? Those notes he left in the book, those were legit - it seems like the two of you were actually in love or something - _were you_? Did you - Jesus, what the fuck did he think he was doing to y -”

“Stop.” Leah looks up from her book. Tears spill from her eyes, fall down her face, land onto the pages open. “Not tonight.”

Fatin moves instinctively. She sets her mug of tea next to Leah’s on the floor. Then, slowly but decisively, she takes Leah’s elbow, guides her to sit up on her bed, and wipes her tears away with both thumbs. 

“I’m sorry,” Leah rasps. “I didn’t mean to -”

“No.” Fatin steps away only to grab their mugs from the floor. When she returns to Leah’s side, she holds her mug towards her. Waits for her to accept it and take a tentative sip. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” Fatin sits next to her, the bed dipping with her weight. She shifts closer, silently offers Leah her shoulder. Leah accepts.

They finish their tea in silence. Directly across from them is a cork-board full of cue-cards pinned up. It’s hard to read from this far. But a few look like quotes, drawn with precise, neat handwriting. A few others look like reminders, last-minute scrawls on bright sticky notes. Fatin can’t make out the handwriting. But she takes it in anyway, like she takes in every other visible inch of Leah’s room, the mosaic of Leah’s life that Fatin’s been invited into.

Fatin doesn’t know how much time has passed when Leah mumbles, “Can we go to sleep now?”

“You don’t wanna talk about Jeffr -“

“No.”

“Are you ... mad at me?” 

Leah takes Fatin’s empty mug. Their fingers brush, Leah’s thumb sliding down Fatin’s wrist. “No.” 

Fatin exhales a shaky breath of relief. 

Leah rises to her feet. Fatin swallows back a protest only to find that Leah’s just setting their empty mugs on her nightstand, crammed next to her empty water bottles. 

Fatin stretches her arm out, grasping at the light-switch until she successfully turns the light off. When she flops onto her back on Leah’s bed, Leah’s next to her, on her back, staring at the ceiling. Without looking, Leah grabs a blanket underneath her pillow. It’s blessedly thin and soft. Small, too, but fits well-enough when Leah spreads it over both of them.

Here, in the dark, their feet touching from where they stick out of the blanket, their elbows pressed together, their deep breathing synced, the taste of the tea Leah had made for her still on her tongue, Fatin almost feels at peace. 

“I can hear you thinking about it,” Leah murmurs. “About him.”

“You don’t want to talk about it, so. This is me not talking about.”

“He’s a good guy.”

“Leah -”

“You don’t know him like I do, okay? He got me, he cared about me, what we had was - ”

Fatin rolls onto her side towards Leah. She carefully covers one of Leah’s hands with her own. Leah responds by turning her palm over and lets Fatin twine their fingers. 

“Leah, listen to me. You’re gonna be okay. I promise. I fucking promise.” 

At this, Leah turns to face Fatin. They’re nearly nose-to-nose, their knees pressed together. Their interlocked hands take up the only space between them. It’s both effortless and concentrated. So easy but so precious that Fatin doesn’t want to shatter it, hopes fervently that she already hasn’t.

Leah leans in. Fatin’s breath gets caught in her throat. She doesn’t know if she’ll selfishly kiss her back or guiltily refute her until she realizes those aren’t even her options. Leah’s just leaning her forehead against Fatin’s. 

But also: Leah’s leaning her forehead against Fatin’s.

“Thanks.” Leah’s thumb strokes the back of Fatin’s hand. “Thanks for being here.”

Fatin melts. She tucks the blanket further up Leah’s shoulders before she folds her legs so all of her fits underneath the blanket. “Don’t thank me. Just tell me you believe me.”

“Thank you,” Leah repeats. 

It’s not what Fatin wanted to hear but it’s enough. She’ll try again tomorrow. 

Until then, she closes her eyes, listens to the steadiness of Leah’s breathing, and clings to her hand. “No, thank _you_.”

“Thank _you_.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank youuuuu.”

She has no idea how long they volley mumbled thank you’s back and forth, just that they keep it going until, half-asleep, their legs end up tangled, Leah’s back is to Fatin’s chest, and they’re both fast asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi again, friends!! 
> 
> thank you so much for the lovely feedback from the first chapter. i appreciate every kudo and comment *so much.*
> 
> this chapter was just. so good for my soul to write. just fatin and leah getting to know each other better and being disgustingly cute and falling /hard/. i'd love to know your thoughts on this one!! 
> 
> next chapter will be the last one before we head off to the island :) so do with that what you will :) haha i'm already in pain thinking about it i can't wait! <3
> 
> hope you're all doing well and taking care. you can find me @trulyalpha on tumblr. much love. :-)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> somehow this chapter ended up being longer than chapters one and two combined???? oops. i just have so many feelings about fatin so here they all are :D

The first time Fatin wakes up, she’s sure she’s still asleep.

Fatin can’t remember when she was last held like this. When every muscle in her body was this loose and relaxed, and she didn’t wake up to her alarm, her mother yelling at her from the kitchen, and/or her brothers jumping on her bed because her dad asked him to wake her up.

So she steps back into what she thinks is just a strangely nice dream and falls back asleep.

.

.

.

The second time Fatin wakes up it’s because her head is throbbing. 

A hangover. Great. As if puking in front of Leah last night wasn’t enough.

She tries to roll over in the opposite direction but her arm is stuck under something.

Someone.

Leah is fast-asleep, snoring face-down into her pillow. Her face is completely hidden from her rudely opened blinds. One of her arms hangs off the bed. The other is still slung over Fatin’s waist which is when Fatin finally realizes that she wasn’t dreaming earlier. She spends a dumb amount of time staring at Leah’s fingers from where they curve over her hip. Her nails are still the same shade of red but not faded or chipped anymore. They’re fully-painted. 

She doesn’t know how she missed that last night. 

She also doesn’t know why she’s being such a creep about Leah’s fingers, _again._ Nor why the firm but gentle way they hold onto her is getting to her. 

In her defence, this could be a whole lot weirder. She could be blatantly staring at the back of Leah’s head or watching her breathe. But she isn’t, so this is fine.

This is okay.

This is really nice. 

Fatin rolls over, mindful not to jostle the bed too much. She successfully shifts so that her front is to the bed. It makes it easier to slip her arm around Leah’s back and let it rest there. She tilts her head so the side of her cheek is pressed to the pillow. It’s not as silky or soft as what she’s used to. It’s lumpy, too warm, and covered in drool - though whose, she isn’t sure - but it’s even more comfortable.

Fatin should probably get up. Check her phone, the time, make sure her two p.m practice for her upcoming recital is confirmed. 

But she doesn’t want to. 

Outside, a bird flies by the closed window and chirps as it goes. From downstairs comes the distant ring of mingled laughter, an old love song, and clumsy footsteps that must be from Leah’s parents. Leah keeps snoring.

Fatin tries to make out the alarm clock from the nightstand without moving and disrupting Leah. But the back of Leah’s head blocks it. It doesn’t block out part of that stupid fucking book’s spine, though, from where the book sits just an arm’s length away.

Hooking up with an older guy for fun is one thing. Fatin’s been there, done that. Never a thirty-year-old but her college guys technically count. 

Anyways, it’s one thing when it’s just for sex. It’s another when he writes a bunch of love-notes in the copy of _his_ book for a seventeen-year-old who carries it with her like her heart is trapped between the pages. 

This has to be what Ian meant just the other day. _She’s been having a rough year._

And what Leah meant the one and only other time they’d talked about it, the first time Leah drove her home. ... _in a burning building kind of way. Probably good that I got out when I did._

Fatin’s not stupid. She’d known then that it clearly ended badly. But she hadn’t known what ended wasn’t some stupid fling, but what, a _relationship_? Whatever it was has its claws in Leah, Ian and mom concerned about her, and Leah still thinking he’s a good guy who understood her like no one else. 

Fatin sees red.

She raises her arm, ready to reach over Leah, knock that book to the floor, then tear it to shreds.

Leah turns over until she’s facing Fatin. With drool on her chin, hair in her eyes, and even louder snores even louder, she’s still adorable. What the fuck. The only part of Leah that hasn’t moved is her arm, still looped around Fatin.

“You’re gonna be fine.” Leah doesn’t wake, thank god, so Fatin keeps going, staring back at Leah’s red fingernails as she murmurs, “It won’t feel like this forever. You’ll move on eventually. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you will.”

She forgets about knocking the novel. Tightens her arm around Leah. And soaks in the feeling of being held while she still can.

.

.

.

Sometime later, the door to Leah’s room opens. “Leah?”

Mrs. Rilke seemed nice last night but Fatin’s realistic. Fatin invited her daughter to a party, brought her home late, was clearly drunk, and last-minute crashed her home for a sleepover that Mrs. Rilke really couldn’t refuse. 

It’d be more unreasonable if Mrs. Rilke somehow _did_ like Fatin.

So despite having been awake for a stretch of time, Fatin keeps her eyes shut. She becomes hyperaware of every part of her that’s touching Leah - which, from how entangled they are, is a lot of her - but doesn’t dare move.

The door creaks. Footsteps bound towards them. “Leah? It’s almost noon. I know you were out late, but we had a deal you’d stop sleeping in. I’m glad you’re getting enough sleep, but too much sleep is bad too, sweetheart, and we have breakfast -”

“Mom,” Leah grumbles. Her voice is raspy and heavy. Fatin’s stupid heart flutters. “Teens go to parties and then they sleep in. This - this is normal, okay? Don’t have to worry.”

“I’m your mom. I’m going to worry.” 

“I _told_ you you didn’t have to pretend to be okay with me going out last night and coming home late.”

“I wasn’t pretending!”

“Yes, you were! I heard you and Dad arguing about it on Friday.”

In hindsight, pretending to be asleep to make things less awkward just had the opposite effect. Which. It’s good to know now but Fatin really fucking wishes she’d known that a minute ago.

“Okay,” Mrs. Rilke sighs. “I wasn’t _thrilled_ about it but your father was right. It didn’t make sense to punish you for wanting to be social and engage with your peers again. It especially didn’t make sense to not let you spend time with your new friend outside of school for the first time, which, have I told you -”

“How, of course, while you love Ian, you’re happy that I’m finally stepping out of my comfort zone and making new friends, a girl at that, and not moping around and only leaving the house for school and to walk Chester?”

Fatin’s a little in awe at how coherent Leah is right after waking up in the morning. She files that away, adds it to her ever-growing list of what she knows about Leah, another piece of the mosaic.

Fatin clenches her teeth to hold back a whine as the warmth of Leah’s skin against hers vanishes. The bed dips with movement. 

“Mom,” Leah says, “I know - I know how I’ve been, okay? And no, I don’t want to talk about it, so please don’t try asking again, but I’m gonna be fine. You know that, right? I slept in today because I had a long night with my friend. That’s it.” 

The bed dips again. 

“I know. I’m glad you know too,” Mrs. Rilke murmurs. “C’mere.” Noises of shifting and the rustling of the bedsheet ensue. 

Fatin cracks an eye open. Both Rilke women sit on the edge of Leah’s bed, their backs to her, their faces to the window. Mrs. Rilke combs through the knots in Leah’s hair. Leah’s shoulders are hunched but she pushes all of her hair past her shoulder. Like she’s giving her mother better access and permission to continue.

Fatin shuts her eyes. She couldn’t avoid listening to their conversation but she can still give them this moment to themselves. 

It makes her wonder when the last time, if ever, her mom woke her up like this and just sat with her and enjoyed the quiet of a Sunday morning. 

Leah clears her throat. “What did you think of Fatin?” 

“She’s a lot different than Ian. Not at all what I expected,” Mrs. Rilke admits. It’s not a bad thing but it stings a little. She holds her breath, half-expecting a pointed comment about her brown skin, the short dress she’d worn last night, how drunk she was, or maybe a fun mix of all three.

Instead, Mrs. Rilke says, “I really like her.”

“Good,” Leah says on an exhale. “Me too. We’re, like, actual friends. That’s already weird, and then it’s weirder because she _is_ so different and she’s just so ... her. And it’s insane that she’d want to be my friend.”

Fatin bites her lip to keep from interjecting. Yes, okay, she enjoys hearing that Mrs. Rilke likes her. And yes, she _really_ enjoys having verbal confirmation that Leah likes her too. Even if Fatin already knows they’re friends.

But she also can’t stand laying here, motionless, when she wants so badly to sit up, shove Leah’s shoulder, and demand Leah explain why it’s so ‘insane’ that Fatin would want to be her friend. 

Especially when it’s more unbelievable that Leah would want Fatin back. 

“I don’t think it’s insane,” Mrs. Rilke insists. “You’re a lovely person.”

Leah snorts. “Me? Lovely? _Fatin_ is lovely.”

Fatin’s heart flutters again, ridiculously, wildly. The softness in Leah’s voice - she thinks Fatin’s lovely? - is both wonderfully unbearable and horribly tender. 

“Oh, don’t be jealous, hun, you’re just as beautiful as her -”

“What? No, I’m not jealous, it’s just - I’m glad you like her, mom. And thanks a lot for letting her stay over.”

“Of course. Alright, let’s get up before we wake your friend up. We’ve got waffles downstairs. Get dressed and meet me downstairs. Want to wake your friend up so we can all have breakfast together?” 

“Mm, after I get showered and dressed. Don’t want her to see me like this with my intense bedhead and my dried - ugh, not even completely dried drool.”

Whoops. Too late for that.

“Okay, love,” Mrs. Rilke says easily. The gentle noise of a kiss follows. Fatin resolutely ignores the ache it presses against her ribcage. “And I know, you don’t want me saying it, but I want to say it, okay? I’ll promise I’ll be quick. But I’m just ... really glad you’re actually having breakfast with us today and not wasting the day away in bed -”

“ _Mom_.”

“I mean that in a good way! Honestly! And I’m glad Fatin’s here and has been so good for you these past weeks. That’s all.”

Fatin’s mind races with too many thoughts for her to keep up with them. But one sticks out. 

However good Fatin might have been for Leah, it can’t possibly hold a candle to how good Leah’s been for her. 

.

.

.

When Leah leaves her room to shower, Fatin gets up. 

Her phone’s clock reads 12:45 pm. Fatin must’ve slept for at least ten hours. She can’t remember when she last slept this long, this late, or this well. All thanks to Leah.

It gives Fatin this strange thrill. Already, in less than a month of friendship, she’s gotten Leah to go out to a party, slept over at her place, shared beds, met her mom, will soon meet her dad and dog and have _breakfast_ with their family. Breakfast. The only other person she’s ever built anything like this with is Audrey. 

Even then, that seed was planted when they first played in the sandbox in kindergarten at five. It had more than a decade for it to grow into their friendship. One of the only real things Fatin has, let alone something that isn’t intrinsically tied to her cello and her family and everything she _has_ to be, instead of what she just is.

It already feels the same with Leah. That’s the thing. It’s moved so quickly, so easily. It’s already reached the point where Fatin can’t help but think about when she’ll next wake up in Leah’s bed. 

That should be scary.

It’s a little scarier that it isn’t.

Fatin pushes that thought away by checking her missed notifications. She responds to her dad first, a quick _I’m fine, please tell mom I’m not responding to ANY of her missed calls. Be home in an hour!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Don’t kill me bye_

She confirms that today’s group-practice for today is, unfortunately, still set for two pm. 

She ignores most of her other texts, most from group-chats and posts and stories she was tagged in last night. The only other message she cares about is Audrey who texted her this morning. Half of her message is a series of compliments for the photos she saw online of her and Leah at that party. The other half is news that her parents let her go out today, so she offers to pick Fatin up after her cello practice.

Fatin’s halfway through replying when there’s a knock on the door.

“Fatin? Can I come in?” 

She almost drops her phone. “Um, yes, of course!” 

Leah opens her door. She walks in with a small, almost shy smile. Fatin’s mind momentarily blanks. 

“Morning,” Leah says. “Or afternoon, I guess.”

“Afternoon.” Fatin sets her phone face-down and promptly straightens. She pushes her hair behind her shoulders, crosses her legs, tries to act normal and not like she isn’t in Leah’s clothes, in Leah’s bed, and already thinking about - you guessed it! - Leah and what, if anything, last night meant. “Sleep okay?”

“Yeah.” Leah sits next to Fatin and fiddles with an untucked edge of her bedsheet. Fatin stares at the few inches of space that separate them, wondering if it’s deliberate. “Your hangover okay? Do you want water, Tylenol?” 

“I’m okay. Bit of a headache but that’s what I get for puking on your shoes -”

“I told you, you didn’t puke on them, just, like, _really_ close to them.”

“And crashing your house last night -”

“I _invited_ you.”

“And probably concerning your poor parents. I can’t imagine your mom liked meeting your new drunk friend in the middle of the night. Make sure they know I’m no peer-pressuring you into smoking pot in our high school bathroom or - I don’t know what else suburban parents freak out about but, you know.” 

Fatin’s joking. Mostly. She wanted to make Leah laugh that nearly-silent laugh that brightens her entire face, yes, and is glad that she’s successful. But part of her is also serious. She could’ve made a better first impression.

“My suburban parents have lately just freaked out that I’m a depressed blob wasting away,” Leah says so quickly that Fatin can’t even discern if it’s a joke - and if she’d be more concerned if it _was_ a joke or not - before she nudges Fatin’s knee. “They’re not mad. They’re weirdly happy about it. And _I’m_ not mad either. Unless you are?”

“What?” Fatin snaps her head up and looks at Leah with confusion. “Why would I be?”

Leah looks equally confused. “I don’t know, last night was -” She cuts herself off. Hangs her head low, stares at Fatin’s hand where it rests between them. “A lot. It was a lot. If you’re freaked out -”

“I’m not,” Fatin says quickly. Panic tightens her throat, makes her heartbeat pound so fast it’s all she hears for a few seconds. She never knows what she’s doing but her confidence usually counteracts that. No one can tell you’re faking it if you act like you’re not. But she doesn’t know how to act like that in front of Leah with that novel still on her nightstand. And she can’t just _bullshit_ something so important.

“Leah,” Fatin says. “Your parents. Should they still be worried?”

Leah finally looks at her, blue eyes that are already so familiar now unreadable as they settle on Fatin. “What?”

“Your parents. You said they were worried about you. Should they still be?” Fatin feels stupid the second the words leave her mouth but she means them. She slides her hand down the bed. Stops right by Leah’s hand. And hooks her thumb over Leah’s. “Or do they have nothing to be worried about?”

Leah glances at their twined thumbs then past Fatin. Fatin doesn’t have to see for herself to know that Leah’s looking at that goddamn book again. She hates how irritated it makes her but not enough to feel ashamed about it.

“They have nothing to be worried about,” Leah says finally. She’s still staring longingly at the book. But she also lays her hand over Fatins, keeping their thumbs hooked together. It feels like enough. (It isn’t.)

Fatin doesn’t push for more. (She should’ve.) 

They don’t talk anymore about last night. (They should’ve.)

They bring up his name or talk about it again. (At least not today.)

.

.

.

A few minutes later, Leah wordlessly tugs Fatin’s hand and guides her into the washroom. She waits patiently back in her room as Fatin showers and brushes her teeth. Offers her a pair of jeans too long for Fatin’s legs and a burgundy sweatshirt too plain for Fatin’s taste. But they belong to Leah, so Fatin doesn’t mind. 

They have breakfast with Leah’s parents. Fatin meets Mr. Rilke and Chester the dog over the best homemade pancakes she’s ever had. She answers all of Leah’s parents’ friendly questions about how she likes their high school, her parents, the party. 

Leah stays quiet. She tears her pieces of toast before she eats them, her knee brushed up against Fatin’s underneath the table. 

Until her dad says, “And Leah tells us you’re a cello prodigy!”

“Dad,” Leah says through a mouthful of cereal. A drop of milk drips down her chin. Fatin can’t help but grin and reach up to wipe it away. Leah bats her hand away with an almost embarrassed smile. “Fatin’s more than a cellist. Did you know that she’s a JFK enthusiast? Seriously, ask her anything about him. She’ll have the answer.”

Her parents give Leah a puzzled look. 

Fatin covers her laugh with a sip of coffee. She knows what Leah’s doing, how she’s not _just_ teasing her about her very legitimate research into JFK’s sexual past from a few weeks ago. 

“Oh ... kay.” Mrs. Rilke’s smile doesn’t falter. She pours coffee into Leah’s mug without looking and asks, “Would you like to share with us an interesting fact about JFK then?”

At least Fatin can blame last night’s alcohol for how she breaks into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. Great. Now she looks like a hot mess _and_ an idiot. Laughing at something that’s not even that funny. 

Well, it’s not that funny until Leah follows her lead. She looks at Fatin for half a second before bursting into laughter. Which only makes Fatin laugh harder. Which just sends them in an unbreakable cycle where their laughs turn silent and all they can do is nudge each other helplessly.

Chester barks by their feet. Fatin’s phone buzzes with a text that she doesn’t think twice about ignoring. The confusion doesn’t leave Leah’s parents’ faces. Not even when they lock eyes from across the table and share matching smiles.

.

.

.

It’s a stupid idea. 

But Fatin’s day is off to a great start, so why ruin it? Her mom will already be mad at her for breaking curfew and having a last-minute sleepover. Skipping cello practice to hang out with Audrey can’t possibly make things worse. 

Audrey picks her up from Leah’s. After Fatin profusely thanks both of Leah’s parents, Leah waits with Fatin outside. They sit on her doorstep. Chester circles them with his tail wagging.

“Be honest,” Fatin says, scratching behind Chester’s ears. “Did you have a good time last night?”

“Trust me, if I wanted to complain, I would’ve. I mean, I still don’t think it’s my scene, but I don’t know. It was different with you.”

Fatin grins at Chester. He licks her hand. “Being vomited on sure makes things different.”

“I told you that you didn’t do it on me and that I don’t care. But if you keep bringing it up, I will throw up on you.”

“But I’m in your clothes right now.”

“It’ll be a surprise attack. You won’t see it coming.”

“Thank you,” Fatin blurts.

Leah squints at Fatin, the sunlight in her face, her pale skin glowing in the early afternoon. “Friends drag each other to parties to have a good night that their friend would’ve otherwise spent at home, alone, re-watching Gilmore Girls. Friends also let friends crash at their place when they’re drunk and don’t want to go home to angry parents. Friends ... also don’t need to say thank you. Okay?”

Fatin beams. She bops her head against Leah’s shoulder and takes delight in Leah’s small laugh. She thinks back to those few seconds last night where she was so sure Leah would kiss her and knew, with complete certainty, that she wanted to kiss her back. 

She was just drunk, caught up in the moment. The lines between friendship and romance are always blurred anyway. She’s traded kisses with Audrey maybe half a dozen times over the years, quick, often drunken pecks. Like Audrey, Leah’s gorgeous and lovely. Given the chance, anyone would want to kiss her. Fatin just has really pretty and kissable friends. 

Kisses don’t mean anything. All of her college hookups attest to that. Wanting to kiss someone, especially her new friend, doesn’t mean anything more than that.

Right?

As Fatin sits back upright, her eyes flick down to Leah’s lips. “Okay.” She means to say more than that, another ‘thank you’ without using those two words but she spots a familiar blue Mercedes from the corner of her eye. She’s up to her feet before she knows it.

“Fatin!” Audrey stretches from the driver’s seat across the passenger’s, nearly poking her head out the opened car window. “Babe! Oh my god, hey!” Her eyes skim past Fatin to Leah. With the same enthusiasm, she squeals, “ _Leah_! Girl, hey! You looked so gorgeous in all the pics from the party last night!”

Leah’s look of complete confusion widens Fatin’s smile. She stands next to Fatin and offers a wave. “Thank you? I hope you’re, um, doing well, Audrey. Glad you’re grandma’s okay.”

“Thank you, honey!”

Fatin looks rapidly between her oldest friend and her newest one. Her heartbeat thrums with excitement for the overlap of two distinctly different parts of her life. She hadn’t worried too much about how Audrey would find Leah but Leah on the other hand ...

“First thoughts?” Fatin asks Leah as they walk down Leah’s driveway.

“You know I’ve met Audrey before.”

“ _First thoughts_?”

“She called me honey,” Leah says blankly. Fatin’s shoulders stiffen, her smile slipping off her face. “It was weirdly nice. You know, you never call me honey.”

Melting with relief, Fatin groans and gives Leah a small shove. “If you want me to call you honey, all you had to do was ask.”

“Yeah, yeah. Have fun with Audrey. Thanks again for last night.”

“Thought we agreed that friends don’t have to say thanks, hm?” Fatin doesn’t waste a second before she launches herself at Leah, drawing her into a clinging hug. “I’ll wash and return your clothes by tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.” Leah’s arms slot around Fatin’s waist. She holds Fatin back just as tightly, her chin above Fatin’s head. “See you tomorrow.”

Fatin reluctantly drags herself away from Leah. She sends her a bashful smile and a nod, their hands still lingering. Part of her kind of hates having to finally disentangle from Leah with the step back she takes. Another part is just glad that Leah wasn’t the one to pull away.

She turns around to Audrey’s car. The passenger door is already open for her. She slides inside, flashes Audrey a big grin before she looks back out the window and waves at Leah. “Bye!”

Audrey leans past Fatin. “Bye, Leah! Have a good rest of your weekend!”

Leah nods back, waving again, before she retreats up her driveway and back into her house. The second her front door closes, Fatin crushes Audrey in a hug that’s returned with equal warmth and strength.

They sit in Leah’s street for several minutes. Catching up, mostly about Audrey’s grandmother and then about school, their other friends, and gossip as if they haven’t called each other every other day for the past three weeks.

When Audrey finally starts the car and drives out of Leah’s street, she says, “So. Leah?”

“You like her, don’t you?”

“Totally. I mean, yeah, she’s ... different and not like any of the girls. But I dig her mysterious and lowkey vibes. I think she’s good for you. She kept you company while I was gone and I’m glad y’all are close and _tight_. Is that it?”

“Hm?”

“Is that it?”

“I _heard_ what you said, Aud, but what do you mean?”

“Babe. Don’t play dumb. I saw how you two hugged.”

“ _What_?” Fatin sits upright with an incredulous laugh.“You and me hug all the time, bitch.”

Audrey shakes her head as she drives out of Leah’s neighbourhood. “Not like that. I don’t blush when I hug you. She was totally blushing. And you actually looked shy and soft -”

“I looked _soft_?”

Fatin watches her best friend carefully, scrutinizing her expression. Audrey’s smiling her usual, sunny-bright smile, her hands loose around the steering wheel, the wind from her half-opened window rustling her long black hair. Fatin’s glad to see Audrey so light and at ease, after the rollercoaster of a few weeks she’s had.

Even if what Audrey’s insinuating is embarrassing as hell.

“Look,” Audrey says. “I’m just saying, I like Leah. And you like Leah too, right?”

“Right,” Fatin agrees slowly, her heart lodged in her throat. “Since she’s a friend. Do you - do you think I _slept_ with her? And that I called you here to pick me up from a booty call?”

“It’s not a booty call since you went to the party together and were already hanging out.”

“Not a - that’s the only part you’re denying!? _Audrey_.”

“All I’m saying is this.” Audrey slows to a full stop at a red light. She looks at Fatin, her glossy pink lips stretched into a reassuring smile. She lowers one hand from the steering wheel and sets it over Fatin’s knee.

Fatin already feels calmer but also another intense surge of _God, I missed you so much_. She doesn’t think she’s ever spent this long, a full three weeks, away from Audrey in years, maybe even the entirety of their friendship. She never wants to do it again. 

“I like Leah,” Audrey says. 

Fatin softens. She takes Audrey’s hand, twines their fingers together, their rings clattering in the shuffle. “You talked to her for, like, fifteen seconds.”

“Yeah but my vibes are never off. And I got the _best_ ones from her. Oh my god, trust me! My point is, you’ve got your best friend’s stamp of approval. Whatever Leah is. Your friend or - or more.”

“Fuck off with that,” Fatin says with a half-hearted eye-roll. “ _More_ is such bullshit. As if someone you’re dating would be, what, worth more than your bestie? You think anyone’s going to be _more_ than you?”

Audrey giggles. She swings their joined hands as far as possible in the limited space of her car. “I’m very pleased by that because no shit you’re not more to me than Connor but also you didn’t deny anything else that I’ve said. Interesting.”

Fatin squawks. She snatches her hand away from Audrey’s with a shocked laugh, her cheeks hot with the implication. 

She’s saved from trying to think of a lie Audrey will actually believe thanks to the honk from the car behind them. 

They shriek in sync as Audrey slams the gas pedal and drives off, zooming past the green light they hadn’t noticed.

“Maybe if you spent less time giving me shit,” Fatin nearly cackles out, punctuating her words with a poke to Audrey’s shoulder. “You would’ve noticed the light!”

“Coming from the bitch with _five_ parking tickets -”

“Um, this bitch has only had four, thank you very much.”

Hanging out with Audrey a perfect continuation of the perfect night and morning she’d had with Leah. And it easily beats yet another cello practice.

.

.

.

Fatin ends up grounded for all of May. She’ll be too busy with exams and her recital in June to go out then too, so it’s more like a two-month punishment. 

Her mother yells, delivering her patented “Fatin, you’re wasting your potential” lecture. Her dad tells her that Fatin has to stop forcing them to punish her and she shouldn’t be surprised that now she won’t have her car until June either.

It’s not fun getting bitched at by her parents. 

But for the weekend she got out of it? It’s worth it.

.

.

.

.

.

Fatin spends the entirety of May grounded with nowhere to go but to school, her cello practices - which have since ramped up with t-minus one month until her recital - and home. 

It should suck. It doesn’t.

May comes and goes in a blur of sheet music, excessive amounts of iced coffee, and bone-deep soreness from the tips of her fingers to her toes. Lunches with Audrey and the girls at their school’s outdoor tables, the midday sun on their faces as they shit-talk and steal each other’s fries. Catching up on her English readings in the backyard while her brothers play golf. Car-rides home with Leah and Ian, the windows rolled down, hits from the 2010s playing from Leah’s car because it’s the only music all three can agree on.

It’s busy. She’s always used to constant cello practices. But it’s getting more difficult to bear them as their frequency, intensity, and length keep increasing and without any parties or afternoon cold drinks with Audrey or her college guys. 

In the middle of May, she has a nightmare. She’s running down a dark and endless hallway, chased by a ten-foot-tall cello. As if it couldn’t be any more literal, her cello screamed, in distorted and half-broken notes, the actual soundtrack of her fucking nightmare, “WHY ARE YOU RUNNING? WHAT ARE YOU WITHOUT ME, FATIN?”

Her subconscious loses points for being too on the nose. But it was effective enough that Fatin woke up at five in the morning, hyperventilating, and sobbed in her pillow.

So that’s not ... great.

Playing the cello has never been easy but that’s part of Fatin’s love for it. _Being_ a cellist, though? By all accounts, that should be the same thing. Somehow, it’s not. 

Day by day, Fatin is pushed closer and closer to the edge. To the point where she can’t stand the sight of her cello, can’t take the burning in her fingertips, can’t take another goddamn note. She’s so close to reaching in and ripping out this part of her she used to love but has now poisoned every other crevice of who she is.

But she has a lot that keeps her at bay. More than just the pressure and reminder of how much money her parents have invested in this, how they wouldn’t have it, how disappointed they’d be. Her brothers and Audrey help. And Leah.

Leah.

With Audrey’s return and Fatin’s grounding, she sort of expected things with Leah to fizzle out. She hadn’t let herself think about it, refused to be anything _but_ ecstatic that her best friend was home, but it lingered in the corner of her mind anyway.

She was right that things would change. No more lunches in the library. No more morning conversations before first-period Philosophy. The weekend after the party, their little routine shattered. 

But it didn’t fall apart.

Fatin still walked Leah to Calculus every day. Leah still drove Fatin home after school every day. They replaced their lost time with more texting and almost daily video calls that Leah reluctantly accepted. 

(“Why do I have to show you my _face,_ you already know what I look like,” Leah complained the third time Fatin yelled at her for turning her camera off.

“Because then this would be a phone-call and I hate how impersonal phone-calls are!”

“You said texting is impersonal.”

“More than one thing can be impersonal, Leah!” Fatin huffed at her screen. She lifted her phone from where she had it tilted upright at the desk in her bedroom and shook it. “Do you hate me?”

“Do you think I video call people I hate?”

“Okay, _you’re_ not video-calling me, _I’m_ video-calling _you_ since I’m the only one showing my face. Look, we don’t eat together anymore and I’m stuck at home for the rest of the school year, so forgive me for wanting to make sure our friendship doesn’t fall out of -” 

From Fatin’s screen, Leah gave Fatin an impish smile. She tugged the sleeves of her oversized purple sweatshirt over her hands and waved. It was awkward and endearing and Fatin couldn’t stop smiling. 

“Now I’m video-calling you,” Leah said. “Maybe you have a point.”

Fatin scoffed. “Maybe?”

“Okay, fine, you do have a point. This isn’t terrible.”

“Aw, I’m touched that time with me meets that high bar,” Fatin teased.

“Isn’t it already a given that I enjoy all the time we spend together?”

A few seconds of silence stretched between them.

Leah went so still Fatin would’ve thought her screen had frozen if not for Chester jumping onto her lap and licking at Leah’s shoulder.

“I know you know that,” Leah scrambled to say, “but, uh. You should really know that.”

“Okay, yeah,” Fatin said softly. “I know that. And you know it’s, like - I mean, if you really don’t want to show your face, that’s fine. I’m just being annoying about it on purpose. As long as we’re talking, I’m good.”

Their call lasted six hours, twenty-three minutes, and fifty-six seconds. Leah kept her camera on the entire time and would so for the dozens of calls they would have other the coming weeks.)

So this thing with Leah just grows, and grows, and grows. 

Fatin can’t get the indie songs Leah plays in her car out of her head. Fatin can only get through the tedious grammar exercises for her French class to the soundtrack of Leah’s hum from the other side of their call as Leah completes her classwork. Fatin can’t get the taste of those Craisins Leah always eats during their calls that Fatin calls gross - until Leah brings Fatin some to school and gets Fatin hooked too.

It’s exhilarating. The image of Leah Fatin has built in her head over the weeks continuously transforms, brightens, and sharpens. Fatin still doesn’t understand what Leah sees in her. But Leah _sees_ her and isn’t that all that matters? 

Fatin was scared the night of the party had ruined them. That it had cut through and altered the foundation of - of whatever it was they had. 

While they both never brought up the night of the party again, Fatin knew that it had ultimately brought them closer.

What Fatin wouldn’t know for a few weeks was that it would ultimately tear them apart too.

.

.

.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Leah! Remember: it’s BYOB.”

Fatin smirks from the backseat as Ian leans across the passenger’s seat to clap Leah's shoulder. “Damn. You theatre kids go hard.”

“In this context, BYOB doesn’t stand for bring your own beer,” Leah clarifies. She gives Ian a crooked smile, both dry and vibrant a combination Fatin has only ever seen in Leah. “It stands for bring your own bug-spray. It’s not camping if there aren’t bugs literally sucking the life out of you.”

Fatin scoots onto the edge of her seat. She hangs her arm around the back of Leah and Ian’s seats, her lower lip curled in disgust. “And you’re camping for fun, right? Not out of a self-hatred and weird desire to, like, get killed by a serial killer? Do you know how many people _die_ while camping? If you guys die, I won’t have a ride home anymore. Are you aware of that?” 

(Actually, Fatin got the keys back to her car a week ago so that’s not true. But neither Leah nor Ian know about it. Fatin couldn’t stand the idea of not ending the school day with their car-rides, so. Better not to mention it all.)

“Since I’m not the one driving you, it won’t really matter if I die.” Ian opens his car door and hops out. Ever the gentlemen, he opens the door for Fatin. He even bows. “All you need is Leah. And she’s totally equipped for the wild.”

Leah scoffs. “Am not. I wouldn’t last a day in the wilderness. I think twelve hours is even too generous.” She looks from Ian to Fatin. Her sardonic smile softens around the edges. “So, sorry if you have to call a cab on Monday to drive you home.”

Fatin rolls her eyes. “Oh my god, I know I was the one who made the dying joke, but you two are the morbid ones.” She grabs the hook of her backpack and steps out of the backseat, her heels clicking against the pavement.

Ian chuckles and closes the door for her. 

“Please don’t die this weekend, Ian,” Fatin says solemnly. 

“I’ll do my best. Have a good weekend, Fatin. See you Monday.” Ian bends and leans his head into the car-window to Leah. “And I’ll see _you_ tomorrow. I’m really glad you’re coming, okay, and I promise you’ll have fun with all of us. It’ll be great, okay?” 

Leah looks terribly fond as she nods and flicks his forehead. “What can I say? You’re persuasive. I’ll pick you up at four tomorrow. Don’t pack less than an hour before that.”

“As if _you_ won’t pack right before picking me up.” Ian thrums his fingers alongside the roof of Leah’s car. He smiles at her one last time before he jogs up his driveway.

Fatin slides into the passenger seat. She waits with Leah for Ian to unlock his front door, give them one last wave, and enter his house. It’s part of their routine. Just like the next part where they turn to each other and argue over who gets to play music now.

“You can play whatever you want today,” Leah says as she drives out of Ian’s neighbourhood.

Fatin stares at her. That never happens. They play-fight. Waste five minutes trashing each other’s music while both knowing that lately, their respective Spotify accounts have only resembled the other’s music taste. And then begrudgingly agree to alternate from whoever played their music yesterday. 

Fatin played her music yesterday so it’s Leah’s turn today. She should feel pleased but the weird calm emanating from Leah is - well, it’s weird. Leah’s always a little quiet, a little stuck in her head, a little out of reach. But never this far away. 

Fatin’s probably making something out of nothing. But her gut-feeling persists. 

So she reaches across the car’s console and touches Leah’s knee. 

“I’d touch your knee back but I don’t want to crash,” Leah says. She emphasizes her words by tapping the steering wheel. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Hm? Nothing.”

“You seem ... different. If you don’t wanna go camping, you don’t have to, I was serious when I said that it’s a legit thing, serial killers love to serially kill in campgrounds, I’ve seen two different documentaries about it. It’s fucked up.”

Leah’s nose scrunches as she laughs. “You’ve seen _two_ documentaries on it?” 

“Yes, it’s awful - why is _that_ your takeaway!?” 

Leah laughs again. All the tight lines in Fatin’s face smooth over instantly. “That’s, like, the most _you_ thing I’ve ever heard. You have the most random assortment of interests.”

“Alright, Mrs. I-Heart-Craisins, please get off my - stop changing the subject! Is something up? Is it about the camping thing tomorrow?”

“No. I mean, yeah, I’m not super excited to go, but Ian wants me there. I’ve been such a shitty friend to him all year. And spending all my time with you lately has -”

“What?” Fatin interjects. Her mouth tastes sour. 

“He likes you. I mean that. It’s just ... you know, I’ve been spending lots of time talking to you after school and with our car-rides. He’s not upset, he’s just been spending more time with _his_ friends that we’re hanging out with tomorrow, but I know he misses me a little.”

A lump forms in Fatin’s throat. She stares at her lap and smooths over her short black skirt. “Do you miss him?”

“I don’t like him like that. You know that.”

“That’s not what I asked.” 

“I’m not used to having more than one friend so maybe I need to learn how to balance _that_ hectic lifestyle,” Leah says with a touch of her trademark self-deprecation. “I mean, I’m going tomorrow to make up for it. But I don’t - I mean, I’m happy with the way things are.” She sounds surprised by it, her eyebrows furrowing briefly, before a small smile spreads across her mouth. “Huh. I’m really happy. Can’t believe I said that and actually meant it.”

Leah’s always gorgeous but here, the wind in her hair, the afternoon sun framing her face, and her blue eyes sparkling at Fatin - she’s golden.

She doesn’t even give Fatin a second to take it all in before she adds, “I was also thinking, uh - I know you’re having that mini barbecue with your family tomorrow that you’re dreading. I’m gonna leave the house, like, an hour before I pick up Ian to buy some bug-spray and snacks and shit. Wanna come? It’ll give you a quick break from your family. We can get ice-cream or something.”

Fatin has to dig her nails into her palms to keep from doing something stupid. Like leaning over, kissing Leah, and causing Leah to swerve and kill them both because Fatin couldn’t keep it in her pants. 

“Well?” Leah asks hesitantly. “It’s cool if not, I get it if you’d spend all day with your family -”

“I’m in,” Fatin says. “You’ll be gone all weekend. I gotta get my goodbye in.”

Leah bites her growing grin. She passes the McDonald’s near Fatin’s house. Fatin pictures them there, tomorrow, sitting knee to knee in the back of Leah’s car in the parking lot, each with their own McFlurry. 

The image strikes her with an intense surge of warmth that Fatin has to add, “Only if you agree that we get ice-cream from McDonald’s. On me.”

“Weird condition, but okay. That works.” Leah flashes Fatin a quick, breathtaking smile before returning her eyes to the road. “Should be another few minutes until we get to your house. You have time to play one song that I’ll hate.”

“You love my music, you shitty liar,” Fatin accuses. She lifts her phone up from the console and belatedly notices something. Or rather, the lack of something. 

“Fatin? Are you buffering? Why are you staring at my cupholder?”

That’s not what she’s looking at but Fatin doesn’t correct her. What she _is_ looking at is the space where Leah’s asshole-ex’s book should be. She always carries that thing around, keeps it as close to her as possible, but it isn’t here today. 

Come to think of it, Fatin can’t remember the last time she saw Leah bring it to class or in the peripheral of their video chats.

Her heart fills with an equal mix of fondness and pride. She doesn’t say anything. Just bites her lip to hide a smile that persists anyway. Goes to connect her phone to Leah’s car only to see that it’s already connected. Plays a song from her calming cello playlist. 

“I fucking love this song. I know all the words,” Leah jokes. 

It’s not funny except Fatin laughs so hard she snorts. The impulse to kiss Leah doesn’t pass. Fatin doesn’t think about it.

.

.

.

When Fatin was five-years-old, her parents held a party at their house. It was for family. A dozen aunts and uncles with expensive wine-glasses and even more expensive wine. (They filled a wine glass to the brim with apple juice after Fatin threw a fit about not being allowed anything to drink.) 

She’s the oldest in her family; neither of her brothers nor any of her cousins were born yet. Naturally, all of the adults’ attention fell onto her - just the way she liked it. 

She remembers her dad’s youngest sister interrupting the barrage of endless questions about how Fatin was liking cello. Her aunt bent to meet Fatin at eye-level and smiled conspiratorially. “I’ll ask the real questions now. Darling, you can be honest with me. I won’t tell anyone. Who’s your favourite, mom or dad?” 

In hindsight, she’d probably wanted Fatin to say some cute little kid shit. Like _I love them both!_ or _mama!_ so they could all laugh and lovingly make fun of her dad. 

She probably hadn’t expected Fatin to respond with: “Easy! I love daddy more. I hate mama. She’s the worst.”

A beat of silence froze the room.

Her dad played it off with a laugh. “They had a small argument over the dress Fatin would wear tonight. She only said she loves me more because I have no opinions on dresses except they all look the same.”

A jovial round of laughter passed. Fatin’s mother laughed the hardest and pressed a kiss to Fatin’s dad’s cheek. 

Fatin had smiled, pleased. 

She’d ended up falling asleep on the sofa later that night. She woke hours later. When she opened her eyes, all their guests were gone. Her parents looked like they’d been cleaning the room but stopped halfway through. Now, her mom cried while her dad rubbed her back.

“She hates me. She said it herself!”

“She’s just a kid. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. She loves you.”

“No, she loves _you_. You’re perfect in her eyes. You could never mess up to her, she’ll always adore you.”

Fatin was so exhausted that she’d drifted back to sleep. By the time she woke up again, she was in bed, it was morning, and she’d forgotten about what she’d overheard.

Twelve years later, Fatin remembers that night with stark clarity as she stands in their kitchen aisle. Her dad’s phone - and all of his texts and nudes - are in her hand. Her eyes fill with tears. Her heart sinks to the bottom of her stomach. 

Usually, she’s delighted to have any excuse to tell her mom off for being wrong about something. But not this time.

Fatin looks at her father - the serial cheater, the liar, the man she’s been stupid enough to blindly love and worship her whole life - as he laughs, hoisting her brothers into the air. From across the backyard, at the grill, her mother watches her boys with a private smile.

Fatin sobs harder. 

She tries to get angry, furious, spiteful. But when she digs deep enough, all she finds is complete devastation.

.

.

.

Leah’s _Come outside, I’m in your driveway_ text arrives ten minutes later. 

Fatin receives it while frantically pacing the length of her room. She’s still in her bathing suit. Still sobbing hysterically. Still a mess; though this part is nothing new. 

Leah can’t see her like this. Except Fatin can’t stay in this house for another minute. Just the thought of sitting in the passenger’s seat of Leah’s car eases some of the ache in her chest. 

Fuck it. She throws a sweatshirt on. Steps into the first pair of heels she finds on her bedroom floor. Speeds out of her room, down the stairs, and out her front door. 

She runs the entire way to Leah’s car. It’s a miracle she doesn’t fall and twist her ankle. Even if she does fling herself into Leah’s car and, in the process, bangs her knee against the dashboard.

“Fuck,” Fatin hisses. She tries to close the car door and ends up slamming it on her foot. “Oh my _fucking_ god -”

“Whoa, Fatin, relax, what’s -” Leah falls quiet. She looks gorgeous as always. Seeing her both calms the wild in Fatin’s bones and further unsettles her, reminds her even more of how much of a disaster she is. Leah extends a hand out like she’s going to touch Fatin’s shoulder. 

Fatin scoots back. She wipes harshly at her eyes. “Don’t. I’m fine.”

“You just ran into my car, closed the door on your foot, and I’m eighty percent sure you’re not wearing any pants. Also -” Leah reaches out again, slower this time, her hand towards Fatin’s face. 

Fatin freezes. Her heartbeat pauses. But she doesn’t move away.

Leah dabs Fatin’s tears away with what might be caution but Fatin takes as gentleness - either way, it makes Fatin cry harder. 

“Shit,” Leah mutters. She pulls her hand back. In any other circumstance, the shock on Leah’s face would make Fatin laugh. Instead, because this is all Fatin can fucking do right now, her cries get louder. It burns in her eyes, her throat, her heart, and hurts everywhere. 

She should’ve cancelled on Leah. Why is she here ruining Leah’s afternoon? Leah’s had a shitty year and needs happy distractions, like her camping trip with Ian. Not Fatin’s dad baggage. 

“I’m sorry,” Fatin chokes out. “I should - I’m gonna go, okay, have fun with Ian tonight. Don’t - don’t die in the woods, please.” She turns to open the door. 

Leah grabs Fatin’s wrist. She doesn’t pull Fatin back or even hold her tightly but Fatin stays rooted in her seat. 

“You owe me ice-cream, remember?”

Fatin forces herself to look at Leah. She can’t imagine what she must look like in Leah’s eyes, what with her puffy eyes, damp cheeks, ruined make-up, lack of pants. It makes her want to run back into her house even more.

But Leah’s tentative smile as she adds, “You can pick the music,” makes Fatin want to stay.

Fatin sniffs. She tugs her sleeves over her hands and dabs her face dry. “Your sad shit might actually be what I wanna hear today. Would be fitting as fuck.”

“Can’t believe I’m saying this, but no sad shit. Play your music, Fatin. And put your fucking seatbelt on.”

“Bossy,” Fatin grumbles as she does exactly what Leah says. Seatbelt first, music after. She presses shuffle on her music library. It ends up playing one of Leah’s songs anyway. Before Leah can protest, Fatin says, “Shut up, it was already on my phone.”

Leah pulls out of Fatin’s driveway with a pleased smile. 

Fatin takes her heels off and leaves them on the car-floor. She pulls her legs up, hugs them to her chest. Her head still feels dizzy, the past half-hour and her father’s texts not yet real but still burned into her mind. Every inch of her still throbs and she still wants to cry until she’s screaming. 

But Leah’s driving right next to her. She hums quietly and keeps darting glances at Fatin every few seconds - that _has_ to be a safety hazard. They’re getting ice-cream. They’ll have an hour before Leah has to go. And maybe later, Fatin can find a party, find a pretty guy, and not have to think about this for at least another day.

.

.

.

She ends up telling Leah about it all over McFlurries in the parking lot of McDonald’s. She cries some more, probably gets snot over Leah’s shoulder, and says the words “my dad’s dick pics” way too many times. 

She hasn’t cried in front of her parents in years. Maybe only cried in front of her brothers a few times in the midst of preteen tantrums. Cried exactly twice in front of Audrey. One of those times was because her hoop earring got tangled in Audrey’s hair and they had to yank so hard, Fatin’s piercing bled. So. 

This - spilling her heart out, knowing that talking about her cheat for a father will make her cry uncontrollably - is already new. And then there’s the whole actually crying in front of Leah, twice now, in the span of twenty minutes.

“I’m sorry,” Fatin repeats. Every time she rubs her eyes, more tears appear. She can’t stop cleaning her face and crying and thinking about her dad. 

After Fatin’s fifth barely coherent apology, Leah lifts Fatin’s untouched, half-melted McFlurry from her cupholder and shoves it into Fatin’s hands. “Eat some. Stop apologizing. It’s okay, Fatin, it’s - I mean, no, none of this is fucking okay but you don’t need to feel worse than you already do, okay?”

Fatin manages a nod and a spoonful. She mostly tastes the saltwater of her tears, which is disgusting. But Leah’s still looking at her with a mix of patience and insistence so Fatin takes another spoonful. She keeps going until she’s finished. She crushes her empty cup next and stuffs it into Leah’s in her cup-holder. 

Leah clears her throat. “How do you feel now?”

Fatin sits back, wrapping her arms around herself. “Like I just embarrassed the fuck out of myself and wasted half an hour of your life. Shit, you have to be at Ian’s soon, right? You need your bug-spray, oh my god, you have to go -”

“Fuck bug-spray. Look, I just -” Leah sighs and lays her hand over Fatin’s bare knee. It rests awkwardly there and it’s clear that Leah’s mildly uncomfortable and has no idea what to do. Fatin gets it. If anything, the knowledge that Leah’s trying anyway makes her feel better than anyone else could be. Well. Probably not as good as if the nudes and texts on her dad’s phone were magically a huge misunderstanding and her dad’s actually the monogamous, loving, and kind father and husband she’s always known him to be.

Except that’s not true now. It never fucking was. 

“I obviously have no idea what the right thing to say or do here is,” Leah says. “I’m sorry your dad’s an asshole. I can’t imagine how much this fucking sucks. But you’re not alone, alright? Do - do you want a hug?”

At Fatin’s nod, Leah leans forward, gathers Fatin in her arms, and hooks her chin over Fatin’s head. It’s strained with the forcible space of the seats between them but getting to lean all her weight on Leah and relish in the stability of her arms still soothes Fatin. 

“You’re gonna be fine,” Leah murmurs. “It won’t feel like this forever. Do you wanna talk about what you wanna do? Are you gonna tell your mom?”

“Fuck yes but I need to do more. He can’t _get away_ with this. I want him to be fucking haunted by this. I should - oh my god. I should leak it.”

“What?”

“If he wants to send dick pictures to every bitch in the East Bay then I’ll just do him a favour and pass it on to everyone. Isn’t that perfect? That way he’ll really fucking suffer for what he did.” Fatin can picture it now: her dad, seen as the disgrace he is by their family, his friends, their mosque. Her mother kicking him out. Forcing him to sign a set of divorce papers. He gets to live with his mistakes and they get to live without him. Perfect. “Isn’t it a good idea?”

Leah rubs her hand down Fatin’s back. “Mhm, yeah, it is, just - maybe sleep on it? Give it some thought.”

“Mm, for sure.” She’ll sleep on it and do it tomorrow. This will have to make up for all the times Fatin favoured her dad over her mom. It’s going to hurt like a bitch when her mom learns about it all but the revenge Fatin’s giving her will soften the blow, make it easier to move on. She’s still drop-dead gorgeous. She can find a new husband easily and they’ll all be okay. 

Fatin pulls back to smile weakly at Leah. She presses a loud kiss to Leah’s cheek. “Anyone ever tell you you’re the goddamn best?”

Leah looks adorably flustered. Fatin barely resists the urge to kiss her cheek again. “You believe me, right? That things’ll be okay?” 

“Yes. I do,” Fatin says softly. She means it.

(She actually fucking means it. That’s the saddest part - that and how quickly it would all come back to bite her in the ass.)

.

.

.

Leah shortly drops Fatin off back at her house.

Fatin apologizes profusely, not for her outburst and emotional baggage this time, but for not giving Leah enough time to buy her last-minute essentials for her camping trip. Again, Leah tells Fatin to stop apologizing, insisting that it’s alright.

“I’ll leech off of Ian’s shit,” Leah informs her while she parks in front of Fatin’s house.

Fatin doesn’t know why but she drawls, “You, Ian, your own tent, and a night in the woods, huh?” She’s still pretty sure Ian has a thing for Leah. Where Leah stands, she’s not sure, but when she does actually think about Leah and Ian alone in a tent, well - it’s not a pleasant thought. Fatin doesn’t let herself wonder why. She can’t go there. Especially not with the whirlwind that is her goddamn life right now.

Leah rolls her eyes and elbows Fatin. “Fuck off. Nothing’s gonna happen! I don’t like him like that and his friends will be there with us and - oh my god, I can _see you_ thinking about an orgy joke. Don’t say it.”

Fatin laughs. It’s her first one of the day, which Leah can’t possibly know, but Leah lights up all the same.

“Fine.” Fatin unbuckles her seatbelt, opens her car door. “Just one more thing?”

“I won’t get killed by a serial killer tonight.”

“No, that’s not - I mean, _good,_ but -” Fatin unlocks her phone, opens Leah’s contact, and sends her a photo saved in her camera roll. “What I sent you is, um, an invitation to this recital. You know the one I’ve been bitching about all month?”

Leah nods. Her phone buzzes, probably with Fatin’s text, but she doesn’t check it.

“Well, it’s two weeks from today. In case you wanna come, see me live or something. It’s probably gonna be hella boring but I’m one of the first performances, so if you wanna just - I don’t know, come see me, and dip right after, that’s chill. Or not come at all. That’s cool too. But you’ve mentioned you’d wanna see me live, so I figure, maybe -”

“Fatin?”

Fatin’s throat dries. “Yes?”

Leah’s mouth isn’t smiling but her eyes are. “I’ll be there.” 

.

.

.

Fatin sneaks out later that night. 

She doesn’t bother with a party. Just texts one of her regular college boys, Jarusan. He answers within five minutes, tells her his dorm is empty and he ordered Mexican takeout if she wants to eat after which she absolutely does.

After, when she puts her clothes back on, she explains her plan. He looks incredulous, agrees that her dad sucks, but thinks it might be overkill.

“I’m just saying, don’t you think it’s too much?”

Fatin huffs as she clasps her bra. “He needs to face actual fucking consequences.”

Jarusan crumples his takeout bag into a ball. He tosses it towards his waist-bin across his dorm-room and misses. “Make sure you don’t get caught.”

“I won’t. I’ve encrypted that shit. Besides, they wouldn’t ever think it was me. He’s got a goddamn list of side-pieces who could easily have turned on him and wanted revenge, you know? I’m good.” 

She’s got this. She texted Audrey about it. Audrey wanted to call but Fatin couldn’t bring herself to do it. She didn’t have enough energy nor did she want to cry. Audrey texted her a million texts that summed up to: fuck Fatin’s dad and he deserves to be exposed. Not that she’d need it to go through with her plan but she has Audrey _and_ Leah’s approval. Two good signs right there.

“Good luck then,” Jarusan says, handing Fatin her top. “Sorry your dad’s a dick.”

Fatin’s face falls as she pulls her blouse over her head. “Yeah, me too.”

.

.

.

She texts Leah all Saturday night and Sunday.

Leah doesn’t reply. She’s probably still with Ian and his friends. Fatin didn’t expect any responses anyway but she still messages her.

Especially right before she decisively ruins her dad’s life. 

_i’m doing it. i’m actually fucking doing it. i’ll let u know how it goes tmmr. hope your weekend went well babe don’t worry if you’re too tired from the trip to talk. can’t wait to hear about it!!!!!!!! <3_

The second after she messages Leah, she sends out her dad’s dick pics and the screenshots of his pervy conversations attached to them. All of his contacts, all in one click.

It feels satisfying. But she can’t stand to wait in her house for the impending explosion when her parents see it. Right now, her mom’s in the shower. Her dad should be home from a last-minute day at work soon.

So she books it. Swipes her car-keys. Dashes to the front door. She bumps into her youngest brother, Faizan, and tells him to tell her parents she went to Audrey’s.

“Mkay.” Faizan’s voice is high, his smile huge. His dorky little glasses hang lopsided. 

It breaks Fatin’s heart. 

She bends to meet him at eye-level and crushes him into a hug. “Give a hug for Fairhan too, okay? Tell him I love him. And I love you.”

“You want me to tell him you love me?” 

She laughs wetly into his hair. He’s going to be fine. They all are.

.

.

.

She comes home close to midnight. 

She comes home from the party, from John’s - or was it Jacob? - bedroom particularly, a little drunk and lightheaded. It’s nearly midnight. She has school tomorrow but she usually crashes this late on weekdays anyway, so it doesn’t matter.

She sneaks back in, fully intending on heading straight to her bedroom. But she passes the first living room closest to their front door and sees it.

Her strong-willed and powerful mother, sobbing and rocking herself back and forth on the floor.

“Mom?” Inside, Fatin shatters completely but somehow, she’s still able to act. She rushes to her mom’s side. Scoops her up onto their couch. Fixes her lipstick. Then holds her close. 

She’s never seen her mom this scattered before. The hyperventilating, the tears, the heartbreak - 

“I’m sorry,” Fatin exhales into her mom’s shoulder. “You don’t need him. He doesn’t deserve you.”

She has no idea where her dad is. She doesn’t want to anyway, so she makes her mom a cup of tea. Guides her to the washroom that’s just for Fatin so her mom can brush her teeth. Asks if her mom wants to sleep with Fatin tonight.

Her mom doesn’t say anything. Twenty minutes later, after Fatin’s showered and gotten ready for bed, she finds her mother in her bed. She assumes she’s asleep so she tiptoes towards her bed and crawls as quietly as possible underneath her comforter.

Fatin scoots close until her mom’s back is to her chest. She slots her arm around her mom’s waist. 

“Fatin?”

Fatin almost jumps. “Yes, mom?”

“I love you,” her mom says hoarsely. She twins their arms and holds Fatin’s hand firmly. “You know that, don’t you?”

Fatin closes her eyes. In the dark of her bedroom, as she cuddles her mother for the first time in over a decade, her life on the precipice of change she’s already expecting - and the change she has no way of anticipating - Fatin tries very hard not to cry. “I love you too, mom.”

.

.

.

In the morning, her parents aren’t home. Their cars aren’t here. They’re not in their bedrooms or the kitchen. Fatin assumes it’s an early morning appointment with a divorce lawyer? What else could it be?

Fatin doesn’t worry about it. She gives her brothers’ cereal, drives them to school, and heads to school herself. 

They’re in the final stretch of their semester. A week and a half of classes left before exams. Their school’s a goddamn mess of rehearsals in the hallways and students sleeping against their lockers before the day’s even started. A lot of people ditch classes just to end up in their school’s library, preparing for a final performance later that day.

Fatin had thought about ditching. She’s got a small headache from the shots she’d taken last night and she can’t get the sound of her mother’s crying out of her head. But she can’t go home and risk bumping into her parents’ arguing and doesn’t really want to shop right now.

So, school it is. Besides, what better remedy than seeing Audrey and Leah in class?

It figures that neither of them is there in first-period Philosophy. As soon as she sits in her seat, she checks her phone.

Audrey texted. She won’t come to school until after lunch, needing the morning to prepare for her afternoon choir performance.

Leah, though, still hasn’t gotten back to the dozens of texts Fatin has sent her over the weekend. Undeterred, Fatin tries again.

_haven’t seen my parents all day but i’ll let u know how it went_

_hopefully in person_

_where the fuck are u_

She texts Leah all throughout class. She doesn’t even try hiding it and earns Sorraine’s throat-clearing.

“Fatin,” he sighs. “I know you’re stressed and tired but please. Put the phone away.”

“Yeah, okay,” Fatin mumbles as she texts Leah, _i cannot believe i’m texting u this many times seriously did u die this weekend??? are u at ur goddamn funeral rn???_

_“Fatin.”_

“Oh my god, fuck off, I just need a minute.” Fatin blurts it without thinking. Once it registers, she looks up from her phone and smiles weakly at her teacher. “I’m gonna direct myself to the office.”

She ignores the muffled laughter behind her as she strides out of the classroom, backpack in hand. She stands in the empty hallway, a little lost. Should she actually go to the office? What’s the goddamn point? There are just ten minutes left of the period and she’ll end up missing French.

Fuck that. If half the school gets to skip class in the library, then so should she.

She walks the route she’s taken regularly for the past two and a half months. It takes longer to get to the library by passing Leah’s second-period calculus class but she likes the familiarity. Makes it feel almost like Leah’s there with her.

Until Leah’s actually _there_.

Fatin briefly thinks she’s hallucinating. She comes to a sudden stop, staring dumbfounded as ahead of her, Leah paces a few feet back and forth. Leah picks at her eyebrow, her lower lip caught between her teeth, every muscle in her face and shoulders tensed up.

“Leah?”

Leah looks up. She grins crookedly at the sight of Fatin. Fatin’s skin crawls, the distinct feeling of _something’s wrong_ snaking around her ribs. The bags underneath Leah’s eyes are more pronounced. Her lips are dry and bleeding. Leah runs up to Fatin, only to take her hand, and drag her into one of the few empty classrooms at the end of this hallway.

“ _What_ is going on, I’ve been texting you all goddamn weekend -”

Leah slams the door shut. Fatin winces worse than she’d ever care to admit.

“Dude, what the hell?” Fatin glares at Leah. “You have to be quiet or someone’s gonna hear us -”

Leah grabs Fatin by the shoulders. Already, she’s out of breath, her blue eyes wide and frantic. “It was Ian. It was Ian’s fucking fault.”

Fatin’s irritation melts. “What was? What did - did Ian try something on you?”

“We kissed but that’s not the point -”

“ _What_!?” 

“Listen!” Leah bends just enough so they’re perfectly at eye-level. She’s so close that their noses nearly touch and all Fatin can see is her. Fatin’s a disaster so of course, her eyes slip to Leah’s lips and - “He's the one that sent my birth certificate to Jeff. He fucking broke us up.”

Fatin recoils. She clutches her chest as if that’ll keep her heart in place and from tearing itself in two. “Did you - oh my god. Don’t fucking tell me he thought you were older.”

Leah’s jaw tightens. “And don’t fucking say it like _that_ because it wasn’t - I just told him I was eighteen, it’s not - I'm not defending what I did but that didn’t give Ian the _right_ to blow my relationship up like that.”

“Blow up - let me make sure I’m hearing this right,” Fatin says slowly. “You were with a pervert who thought you were eighteen when you were what, sixteen, seventeen? And Ian sent proof that you’re a kid -” Leah visibly flinches at that but Fatin continues. “So your relationship with said pervert ended and now you’re pissed?”

Leah crosses her arms. “Are you defending him?”

“Leah ...” Fatin takes in a deep breath. She’s not equipped to handle this but she has to try and choose her words better. “Ian was just trying to protect you from that piece of shit. He loves you. He was doing what was best for you.”

“By taking away the one thing that I care about? Yeah, fucking right. Look, it’s - I didn’t come here to get your opinion. I just need to know if you saw Ian today.”

“I saw him before class, yeah, but so -”

“Okay. Perfect. I’m gonna get him to call Jeff so Jeff knows that Ian won’t tell anyone and we’re good.” Leah laughs breathlessly and runs her hands through her hair. “That’ll work, won’t it? We’ll be back together.”

Fatin is such a moron. She should’ve asked Leah about this after she’d found out. She should’ve pushed for more. She should’ve made Leah talk about it and open up and prevent this from ever happening. She should’ve never believed that Leah was over him.

Clearly, she isn’t.

Fatin takes Leah’s hands and squeezes. “Honey, no. You ... you can’t. You’re the one who told me it ended terribly. You said it was like a burning building.”

Leah’s face crumples. She snatches her hands away from Fatin. “Because of what _Ian did._ ”

“I’m not about to let you ruin your friendship with Ian, who fucking loves you, just to get back with a grown man that took advantage of you.”

“Are you serious? It wasn’t like that! He thought I was eighteen.”

“What did he think you were doing from eight am to three pm? You think he _didn’t already know_?”

Leah’s shiny eyes flash. “I can’t believe you, why are you taking Ian’s side -”

“I’m on your side,” Fatin insists. “And so is Ian. He did this for you. Don’t you see it?”

Leah starts to pick at her eyebrow again. She laughs again but this time, the sound isn’t full of hope. It’s just empty. “Of course you’d say that.”

“What the fuck does _that_ mean?”

“You _would_ think that this is some kind of protection. I got your text last night. About what you did to your mom.”

Fatin falters. She tries to tell herself that Leah’s just upset, that this is the product of Jeffrey and not Fatin. Leah’s not mad at Fatin. She’s just taking it out on her. 

Well, it’s fucking working. “I beg your goddamn pardon? What I did - that’s not - I did the right thing.”

“Did you? Or did you just want revenge like Ian?”

“Ian _cares_ about you,” Fatin hisses.

“He just - he wanted me to himself, he wanted a chance to make a move. Like you just wanted to piss off your dad.”

“When the fuck did this become about me?” There’s a voice in the back of Fatin’s head that tells her to just shut up and walk away. That she’s too upset to have this conversation right now. That she and Leah both need to step back before they say shit they can’t take back. 

And then Leah says, in a low, cracking voice, “I thought you were my _friend_ , Fatin.”

“Are you kidding me!? Of course, I’m your friend! Your friend who doesn’t want you to ruin your friendship with Ian and ruin your fucking life by getting back with that pedophile. I didn’t want to tell you this before because I figured you knew, but Jeffrey Garanis -”

“It’s _Galanis_ -”

“I don’t care! He’s not worth it. I get that you feel betrayed by Ian but he had good intentions. And don’t you dare bring up my parents because that is _not_ the same thing.”

“I don’t care what his intentions were because he still ended up hurting me anyway. And isn’t it the same thing? He invaded my privacy, you invaded your dad’s, and now you’re trying to justify breaking your mom’s heart to me by justifying Ian breaking mine.”

(It’s almost funny that Leah breaks Fatin’s heart right then and there.)

“I’m not the one with issues,” Fatin grits out. “The same way I’m not the one deluded enough to think that a middle-aged man would take me back. Or even deluded enough to _want_ him back. Stop bringing my shit so you look better by comparison.”

They’re still standing close. Only a few breaths separate them and Fatin can feel every one of Leah’s as Leah hisses, “That’s not what I’m doing. I’m just saying you don’t get to judge me and my decisions. I came here for your support and you’re -”

“Why would I be okay with this?”

“I don’t know why I fucking bothered, fine, I’ll go talk to Ian mys -” Leah turns around, heading straight for the door.

Fatin clenches her jaw. She clasps Leah’s wrist and yanks her back in. “I don’t care if you’re pissed at me but friends don’t let each other fuck up the only other friendship they have.”

“Friends also don’t call their friend deluded and shit all over the one thing they care about most, so I think we’ve crossed that line -”

“You know what? Fine.” Fatin drops Leah’s hand and steps back. Her hands clench by her sides. Her short nails dig hard enough in her palm to leave crescents in her skin. This is the anger she’s been waiting on ever since she found out her dad was cheating on her mom. It sparks and bursts and consumes until there’s nothing left. “Fuck it all up. Why should I care? You clearly don’t give a shit what I think. Or about me. God, you ghost me all weekend, don’t even _think_ to ask about how it went with my parents except to tell me how stupid I was for doing it -”

“The world doesn’t revolve around you,” Leah bites out.

“It doesn’t revolve around your statutory rapist of an ex, either. Do you seriously think I’m self-absorbed for wanting you to give a shit about me and oh, crazy idea, actually give a shit about yourself too?”

“No, I think you’re right,” Leah says. “I am deluded. For thinking you were ever my friend. I get it, okay? Audrey was gone and you needed a distraction and ever since she got back, you’ve been too guilty to cut me off. So this is how you choose to do it?”

“Great, glad we’ve confirmed just how deluded you are because that’s insane.” Every inch of Fatin burns. All this time, is this how Leah’s seen her? Selfish, easily bored, the kind of person who would use someone else like that? “At least I’m not a fucking liar. I’m telling you the truth about Jeffrey. If you really thought what I did to my dad - _for my mom_ \- was a bad idea, why didn’t you just tell me that on Saturday?”

“I told you to give it a day so _you_ could see yourself how shitty of an idea it was! And I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, you were devastated, and I wanted to be there for you. Like an actual friend would -”

“Fuck off with that. If you think I’ve wasted almost three months of my life with you because I was bored and then I felt bad, that’s your problem. Not mine. Just don’t come bitching to me when you drive Ian out of your life and your balding ex still won’t talk to you. Why should I care? You obviously don’t.”

The bell rings. Five minutes to get to class. Neither moves. 

An inch is all that remains between them but it feels impossible to cross. 

Fatin’s the one to step back first. Leah’s the one to speak first.

“Fuck you,” Leah says quietly. “Of course I care.” It means nothing, not with the book peeking out of her unzipped backpack that Fatin hasn’t seen in a month. Not with how right after this, Leah will accuse Ian of ruining her relationship and demand he fix it. And not with everything she’s cut Fatin with in the past five minutes.

Fatin adjusts the straps of her backpack. She stands taller. Drops her shoulders. Tilts her chin up. “I don’t need a ride home from you today. I’m betting Ian won’t either. Good fucking luck.” 

She can’t allow herself to look at Leah’s face - if she’s hurt, Fatin will be crushed, and if she’s unaffected, then Fatin will still be crushed - so the second she’s done speaking, she walks past her and out of the classroom. 

It’s only minutes later, once she’s walked down the semi-busy hallway and has locked herself into a bathroom stall, that she notices it. With her phone’s camera, she sees all the dried tears on her cheeks.

.

.

.

Fatin fixes her make-up in the washroom. 

The moment she finishes, two things happen.

The bell rings. She’s officially late for class.

And her phone vibrates with an incoming call from her father.

She sucks in a deep breath. Her throat is still raw from her argument with Leah. But she can do this.

Remaining in the girl’s washroom, she accepts her dad’s call. “I have school right now, you know.”

“Drive home. Now.” His voice is too calm for him to actually be calm. 

“Fuck you. I have school.”

“Not today. Get home right now. You know what you did.”

Fatin’s too angry to be shocked about how he knows it was her. She’s sat on this information for two impossibly long days so after that, and the screaming match she’d just had with Leah, she doesn’t care anymore. “And you know what _you_ did, you fucking cheater.”

“We’ve already called the school and said you’ll be out for the rest of the day. Drive home now.”

“No. Come here and get me yourself, coward.”

“Fine. I’ll bring your mother too. Don’t you dare think about driving off somewhere to waste thousands of dollars as another part of your petty revenge plot. I’ll freeze all the accounts if you’re not in the parking lot by the time we get there.”

“Fine. Do it. I can’t wait to tell you in person how much of a piece of shit you are. You don’t deserve mom, you don’t deserve Faizan or Fairhan or me, so good luck living with that, you -”

He hangs up.

.

.

.

Her mother can barely look at her. All throughout the car ride home and their conversation in the kitchen. She meets Fatin’s eyes twice. Once to defend her shitty marriage and shitty husband. Then again to break the news to Fatin - that the second she’s finished school, and the day after her recital, she’ll head to a fucking _retreat_ in Hawaii. 

It cuts deeper than everything her dad says. But god, does he come close. 

Does he think he’s being a good father? Or does he just want to tear her apart, break her permanently the way she’s done to him?

She keeps telling herself he’s wrong. She’s not a danger to her family. She’s nothing like him. She doesn’t hurt the people she loves. 

But doesn’t she?

She thinks about how she found her mother crying last night. About her brothers, who came from school refusing to return tomorrow because they were too embarrassed. 

And, of course, Leah. 

Fatin was trying to do the right thing. That’s all she tries to do. She tells herself this, over and over as she sulks in her bedroom, but it sounds less like a justification and more like an excuse.

Leah doesn’t text her. Fatin doesn’t bother reaching out. A less than three-month-old friendship can’t survive whatever the hell happened this morning. Fatin can’t even begin to question if she would forgive Leah let alone if Leah would forgive her. There’s no point. Leah’s too far gone for her ex. If Ian couldn’t pull her back from the deep end, what good can Fatin do?

With exams coming up, her cello recital, a stupid weekend retreat, and a summer followed by a full school year in fucking _Oregon_ at boarding school - Fatin can’t afford to think about Leah right now.

(She does it anyway.)

Their friendship ends the same way it starts - it just happens. So what? Nothing lasts forever. Her parents and her dad’s love for her are proof of that. 

She scrolls all the way to her first-ever message to Leah. That first day she drove her home after she woke Fatin up in their school’s library.

Thursday, April 9th, 6:27 pm

 **fatinj:** thanks again for the ride today girl 💋 

Seventy-two days. That’s all she and Leah were.

Fatin has too much going on to mourn seventy-two days.

.

.

.

Still. 

The next day, she waits for Leah in Philosophy but she never shows. She doesn’t show up again. Not even for the exam.

Audrey notices Leah’s absence. She accepts the bullshit explanation that Fatin gives her, that she’s just too busy with school to hang out with Leah. Fatin knows Audrey would call her out on it if not for the news Fatin dumps on her about the retreat and boarding school.

Her mom still won’t look at her. She won’t look at her dad either, so at least Fatin can revel in that. The only times her mom speaks to her, and to her dad from what Fatin can tell, is to break up their arguments. 

Her dad tries to joke around with her. Act like nothing happened. The first time he does it, he tries to be funny by telling her not to pack a million bags for the retreat. He has the nerve to look shocked when Fatin screams at him. He screams back. More shit about how she’s a disgrace, how grateful he is that neither of her brothers is like her, how _she_ broke her mom’s heart.

Her mom still won’t look or speak to Fatin but she’ll jump in every time. Tell her dad to act his age, to stop arguing with his daughter, that this isn’t going to help Fatin. 

Each time, Fatin’s struck with an intense appreciation for her mom. Each time, she reaches out to her, calls her name, tries to thank her, and gets ignored. 

When her mother finally gives in, it’s to ask about the recital. She checks in to see how practice is going. Fatin shouldn’t be surprised. She should blow off the recital altogether, smash her cello into pieces. But she just can’t. Somehow, the only thing that brings her calm these days in between studying and ignoring her parents and being stuck at home is her cello. Her cello is all she has right now so practicing is all she does.

So she musters up a smile, tells her mom that she’s better than ready for the recital, and almost manages not to cry when her mom hugs her tightly.

.

.

.

She sees Ian one last time after she writes her last exam.

They bump into each other in the school’s parking lot. Ian’s with some pink-haired guy Fatin vaguely recognizes. Once Ian sees her, he tells his friend he’ll be a minute. His friend nods and climbs into his car, waiting. 

Ian must’ve found himself a new ride. Huh.

He shields his eyes from the sun and attempts a smile. “Hey. How’d your last final go?”

Fatin shrugs. “I definitely bombed it but hey. Least I never have to look at another periodic table again in my life. Fuck Chemistry.”

“Fuck Chemistry indeed. Look, um -”

Fatin cuts to the chase. “You okay?”

He blinks. “I guess. I figured you and Leah got into a similar fight. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you sooner, it’s -”

“It’s fine. Did you end up calling the prick?”

“God, no. I couldn’t.”

“Look, I don’t know what she said, but I stand with you, okay? Sending her birth certificate to that bastard was the right choice.”

“Oh, um. I actually didn’t do that. I’m glad the fucker’s out of her life but I wouldn’t sabotage them like that.”

“Oh,” Fatin says blankly. “Okay, well. Are you two okay?”

Ian shakes his head. “I’d ask about you two but since you’re asking me about her, I probably already have my answer. She’ll … she’ll come around. She has to. She just needs time.”

Fatin doesn’t say that even if that is true, she doesn’t have time. She leaves for the retreat in a few days and then it’s straight to boarding school. She’ll never see Leah again. She’s already said her last words to her. 

Her throat tightens. At least she has the chance to say the right ones to Ian.

“You take care of yourself, okay?” She claps his shoulder.

He smiles. “You too. I’ll see you in September.”

“Yeah,” she says with a weak smile back. “See you in September.”

.

.

.

Her recital goes perfectly, not a single note out of place. 

The applause she receives is deafening. 

None of it matters.

Her flight is the next day. She’s already packed everything she’ll need. Her dad bought her stupidly expensive suitcases. 

(“They’re waterproof,” he’d said as if that meant anything. She’s not fucking swimming to Hawaii. It’s a miracle she didn’t end up throwing one of the suitcases at him.)

She can’t sleep. It seems like she’s not the only one. At midnight, Faizan tiptoes into her bedroom. He doesn’t ask if he can sleep there. He just crawls in next to her and tugs her arm around himself. 

At one am, Fairhan comes in. He walks to the edge of Fatin’s bed and whispers, “Can I come in?”

She responds by yanking him into her bed.

Only then, with each brother on either side of her, does she fall asleep.

.

.

.

Her parents drive her to the airport. 

Her dad tries talking to her in the first five minutes. After she pauses the music in earbuds to tell him to fuck off, he gives up.

Her mom’s the one who walks with her inside the airport. She helps every step of the way until it’s time for them to part. 

Before Fatin steps into the line, her mother pulls her back. She tucks the strap of Fatin’s purse further up her arm. Then she cups Fatin’s face, smoothing back her hair.

“This is for your own good, sweetheart, you’ll see,” her mother says. “I promise you this isn’t us giving up on you. You’re part of this family, Fatin, you’re - you’re my flesh and blood, you’re part of _me_. You just need some help. That’s all.”

Fatin doesn’t budge. She’s stayed silent all day. She won’t crack now.

“I know you’re mad. That’s okay. You’ll understand someday. Your father picked this retreat out for you with your wellbeing in mind and I know you’ll come to love it. Okay?”

Fatin clenches her jaw. 

Her mother is undeterred. She presses a kiss to Fatin’s forehead, leaves a lipstick imprint against Fatin’s skin. “I love you.”

Fatin jerks back from her mother’s touch. She nearly trips over her hand luggage in the process. 

Her mouth opens. She should keep her resolve. Not give them another word. Her mom doesn’t get to give Fatin the silent treatment for a week, ship her away, and then have the audacity to tell her it’s because she loves Fatin and not because her husband fucking told her to.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Her father was supposed to be the one made to leave. Not Fatin.

And that is why Fatin spits out, “If you fucking loved me, you wouldn’t be sending me away. You wouldn’t choose your husband over your daughter. You wouldn’t do this to me. But fine. Pick him. You can live with the consequences and live without me and live with the fact that I hate you. I hate you so much.”

A twisted part of her delights in the devastation she inflicts. Her mother flinches like she’d been slapped. She clutches her stomach, her lips parted, no sound coming out.

The other part of her that should care is too tired to even do that. 

(In just a few hours, she’ll already be replaying this moment over and over and hating herself for it. She’ll wish she’d hugged her mom, said she loved her back or even said nothing at all.

There will be so much else that she’ll regret but her last words to her mother are what she’ll regret the most.)

She leaves her mother and joins the line. She rubs her wet eyes. Smears the lipstick stain on her forehead. And doesn’t look back. 

.

.

.

Fatin is led to a small wing of the airport.

 _A special wing,_ the young employee tells her, _since you’re on the retreat_.

Fatin is already over it.

There are already three girls seated, all in front of the window-wall with a small airplane - probably theirs - behind them. Two sit close, their heads bent together, giggling over something on the shorter one’s phone. 

The third girl sits a few seats away from them. Fatin stares at her longer, noting her short hair, her cargo pants. Her eyes are closed so she doesn’t notice Fatin. She’s either asleep or she doesn’t want to deal with any of this. Fatin respects it.

Just as Fatin is about to take her seat, another employee’s perky voice sounds behind her. “Feel free to sit wherever, if you’re hungry or thirsty, just let us know. Would you like anything right now?”

“Um. I’m good, thanks.”

“Fuck me,” Fatin says.

The giggling friends fall quiet. Cargo Pants Girl opens her eyes. All three stare at Fatin.

Fatin can’t believe her life. 

She whirls around. Nothing about this set-up is similar to the last time they saw each other except for the fact that they’re face to face, inches apart. It’s unnerving to be this close to Leah again. Her sparkling blue eyes and the other girls watching her and the truth that Fatin doesn’t want to accept don’t help.

“My thoughts exactly,” Leah says. 

“Don’t tell me you’re going on this bullshit retreat.” Fatin glances at the employee next to Leah. “No offence.”

Leah sighs. “No, Fatin, I’m here to personally wish you goodbye.”

“Great. Well. Goodbye!”

“You two know each other?” Cargo Pants Girl sounds beyond confused. Fatin feels exactly the same.

“No,” Fatin and Leah say.

Fatin looks back to Leah. Leah looks confused, too. There isn’t any anger or frustration, nothing indicating that she’s displeased by Fatin’s presence, on her face. But she’s not exactly smiling either.

“I’m gonna sit,” Fatin announces. She plops two seats away from Cargo Pants Girl and opens her phone. She doesn’t even look at her screen. Her focus is on her peripheral, watching Leah to see where she sits. 

Leah stands awkwardly before she gingerly takes the seat next to the set of friends.

Oh.

Okay.

Of course she’d end up on the same bullshit retreat as Leah. At least it can't get worse from here.

.

.

.

If Fatin was already over it, she’s even more over it when the peppy blonde Texan splits them up into pairs on the airplane.

At least she doesn’t get paired with Leah. (Who, of course, brought that stupid book with her. Fatin doesn’t care. Really.)

She gets paired with Cargo Pants Girl - Dot. Surprisingly, Dot isn’t all that bad. This stupid retreat will be the worst weekend of her life but it could be a little bearable if she has dry and sharp-witted Dot with her.

This retreat won’t be as bad as the boarding school that waits for her after this. She still doesn’t want to be here and will hate every goddamn second but maybe, it won’t be entirely terrible. She’ll avoid Leah and soak in the sun and have massages and avoid any group exercises and spend most of her time indoors. 

She’ll get through this shitty weekend.

But of course, none of that will happen.

In half an hour, the plane goes down. Fatin absurdly thinks that all those ridiculous movies and books were right. Your life does flash before your eyes. 

Fatin’s highlight-reel plays out to the soundtrack of screams, sobs, the engine rumbling and falling apart, and their airplane falling out of the sky. Snapshots of her life flash rapidly. Learning how to ride a bike with her dad running alongside her. The first time she held each of her brothers. Her first cello recital and the bouquet her teary-eyed mother gave her afterwards. The vagina-shaped cake Audrey bought to celebrate the first time Fatin had sex that they split in Fatin's driveway that same night. Waking up in Leah’s arms just the other month, their legs tangled beneath her blanket.

Mostly, she sees her life not just gone to waste but gone mostly unlived. There’s so much she’ll never get to do.

But there’s one thing she still can.

Right as she jumps to her feet and tries to find Leah, Leah shrieks out her name. Their eyes meet from across the plane. Fatin tries to move but the floor beneath them shakes, violently, and crashes her into her seat.

She tries to stand again but doesn’t even make it up to her feet before she’s launched back into her seat.

Through the noise and the chaos, Leah’s voice is clear: “Fatin! Don’t get up! _Put your fucking belt on!_ ”

Fatin laughs because she’s heard Leah say that before. It comes out as a cry instead and then she keeps crying as she does her belt, grips her armrests, and squeezes her eyes shut. At least she tried. None of this is enough but it’ll have to do. 

This is really it.

Except it’s not. 

This isn’t how it ends. 

It’s only another beginning in the shape of an island, eight other girls, and what will both be a hell she has never known and her second chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that wasn't so bad, right???
> 
> thank u for reading the beast of this chapter. i still don't know how it got this long but i don't think the rest of the chapters will ever be /this/ long. 
> 
> we're here!!! on the island!! ... cheers, i guess??
> 
> i'd love to know your thoughts on this one! all of the comments on chapter 2 warmed my heart and i'm just so grateful that you're reading. 
> 
> bit of a heads up that chapter 4 will take a liiiiiittle longer to come out. partly due to solidifying the show's timeline and which parts i want to keep and also because school is a lot and i am small and a mess. 
> 
> i'm excited for the island and to get to write the rest of the girls, and i hope you're excited to 'meet' them! i hope you're doing well and taking care. all the love, talk soon. <3
> 
> [as always, come find me on tumblr @trulyalpha!]


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: yeah this next update will probably take longer  
> *gets two unexpected extensions for school assignments*  
> me:  
> me: okay nevermind
> 
> we're officially on the island, folks! :D

It doesn’t feel like a funeral even though it kind of is.

The thought sits with Fatin throughout their round of ‘never have I ever’. They sit in a circle, tentative smiles lit up by the campfire and moonlight, and shaky laughter accompanied by the rise and fall of the tides.

Fatin had gotten one thing right about the retreat: it _does_ turn out to be the complete worst.

In just one day, their plane crashes. 

Their pilot and flight attendants are dead, forever lost in the ocean. 

All nine girls make it to the island, only for nine to turn into eight when they have to bury Jeanette in the sand. 

No one knows where they are. 

Fatin doesn’t know six of the girls here and the only one she does know is someone she thought she would never see again.

The last thing Fatin told her mother was that she hated her.

And yet Fatin cannot stop laughing at this girl’s story about the time she threw piss at a member on the other team at her own basketball game.

This is real. That thought should tether her. But it only further makes her feel like she’s stuck in a lucid dream. Especially when Leah’s knee brushes against hers as she snorts out a laugh.

They’ll be home soon. Rescue is on the way. Jeanette will have a proper funeral. It’s the twenty-first century. People don’t just get stranded on islands anymore. By this time tomorrow, they will wake up to the sound of a helicopter above their heads with ropes hanging out of them where hot muscular men will climb down and bring them home.

They’re going to be fine.

They have to be.

“Okay, Marty,” Toni says. “It’s your turn.”

Leah’s knee is still touching Fatin’s. Fatin takes it as a green light to lean in and whisper, “Is her name actually Marty? Or am I just not paying attention?”

“You’re not paying attention,” Leah whispers back. “And I’m not telling you her actual name. Pay. Attention.”

“I’ve just been through a whole traumatic ordeal here, forgive me if my memory isn’t cooperating with me.”

“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but we’ve all been through the exact same thing today and yet I still know everyone’s name.”

Fatin stares flatly at Leah. Leah grins, raising a single eyebrow at Fatin. 

Suddenly, it’s as if no time has passed at all. It’s April again, and they’ve just become friends, and they’re in Leah’s car, scream-singing to old Avril Lavigne with the windows down, the volume up, and the magical thrill of the instant, heart-deep connection of a new friend.

Even though it’s the end of June, and they’re in the middle of nowhere, nothing but sand and water and wilderness around them, and the memory of their argument between them. They could’ve died today. By some string of luck, they didn’t. A couple of cruel words doesn’t matter more than that. It especially doesn’t matter more than the fact that when they both thought they were dying on that plane, Fatin looked for Leah and Leah looked for Fatin back.

It’s gone unspoken but understood all the day. Arguments in empty classrooms don’t count when your plane crashed, you’re stuck on an island, and you only know each other out of everyone else here.

It’s nice. God, it’s more than that. It’s the only fucking reason Fatin hasn’t lost her mind after almost a complete day here. Sure, she doesn’t know what they are now - did she ever? - and doesn’t know where the lines are, what she can give, what she can take. They haven’t talked about it. Fatin doesn’t _want_ to. The past is in the past, what happens in the Bay stays in the Bay, and all that shit.

They’ll be rescued soon. But for now, Fatin is almost happy to look at this as a temporary beginning. Even if it’ll end soon.

“Fine,” Fatin says. She leans back, staying upright with the hands she digs into the ground. She can feel the sand dig into her fingernails - the one fucking time she gets her nails done and _this_ happens - but then Leah fondly rolls her eyes. Fatin forgets to be annoyed. “Name everyone here then. It’s more difficult than it looks.”

“You don’t know our names?”

“It’s not that difficult, actually.”

“Dude, we almost die together, and you still don’t know our names?”

“I thought you two didn’t know each other that well?”

The girls’ voices overlap together. The only one Fatin cares to acknowledge is the last one: Dot.

Even then, all Fatin has to say is an articulate, “Um.” Seven pairs of eyes burn into her. Fatin doesn’t get shy, especially not around six strangers and Leah. But then again, she’s only ever really had one actual girl-friend and whatever Leah was. Or is?

Anyways, she’s never really spent much time around girls her age. The experiences she does have with them aren’t great. She doesn’t expect anyone here to call her a slut or laugh about her make-up, clothing, and general personality behind her back.

Still.

“I guess neither of us knows how to whisper, huh?” Leah’s warm voice cracks with an awkward laugh, bringing Fatin out of her head and back to herself. “Our bad. If it helps, Fatin knows most of your names. I think.”

Swelling with appreciation, Fatin elbows Leah. “Fuck off. I know your names.”

Rachel - see, Fatin _does_ know their names - snorts. She rubs her hands together, sand flicking out from her palms. “Okay. Name us all then.”

“Ooh, I don’t know,” Shelby says. She twirls the ends of her ponytail, her perpetual smile never faltering. “Let’s not put Fatin on the spot.”

Toni snorts. “What, scared she won’t remember your name?”

Fatin has no idea what could’ve possibly happened today for Toni to already dislike Shelby. Not that she cares.

But she does appreciate that Shelby tried to save her from complete embarrassment, so Fatin clears her throat. “If I don’t get your name right, are you gonna throw piss at me too or is that just for on the court?”

Everyone laughs. Toni looks bewildered like she can’t tell if Fatin’s picking or not. Leah hides her laugh in Fatin’s shoulder but still hisses behind her back, “You cannot make an enemy in less than a day. I swear to god, if you die here not from the literal plane crash or starvation or poisonous berries but because you made a girl _kill you_ -”

Fatin swats at Leah’s arm but she does amend, “I’m just playing, girl. I love a woman who can play dirty. And of course, I know your name, _Toni.”_

Toni’s confusion melts into an almost smile made brighter by the fire. To her left, Marty beams, nudging Toni’s knee with her own.

Fatin knows they won’t switch topics until she’s gone and named all of them, so she does.

She considers deliberately mixing up Rachel and Nora’s names. Except Rachel doesn’t look like she’d enjoy that and Nora’s slight wince when Fatin looks at her makes Fatin feel too guilty to go through with it. The names them correctly. Nora’s surprised smile and Rachel’s satisfied hum let Fatin know she made the right call. The surprised smile from Nora and the pleased hum from Rachel are how Fatin knows she made the right choice.

When Fatin reaches Shelby, Shelby’s smile widens. She responds pointedly with, “Thank you, _Fatin_.”

When Fatin reaches Dot, Dot looks relieved. “Thank fuck. I would’ve been so offended if you’d forgotten, dude.”

When Fatin reaches Marty, Marty’s grin is so precious that Fatin thinks she actually got it right. Until: “And my real name is ...?”

Toni barely conceals her laugh behind her palms. “She doesn’t know, Marty.”

“That’s not true!” Fatin protests.

“Oh no, is my name the only one you don’t know?” Marth’s laughing but Fatin stands by the assertion that the only thing as bad as not remembering this literal ray of sunshine’s name is kicking a puppy.

“That is not true.” Fatin links her arm with Leah’s, ignoring Leah’s squawk. “I don’t know her name.”

Fatin can practically hear Leah’s eye-roll. “I’m sorry, did I hurt your feelings, Leanne?”

Leah swipes her foot against Fatin’s. “No, not at all, Fa _tine_.”

Fatin gasps so loudly that Shelby and Marty jump back, Rachel swears, and Dot asks, “What is it? Did you see something?”

Fatin doesn’t want to explain that she didn’t see a snake or a gigantic bug. No, Leah had just deliberately mispronounced her name the same way Sorraine did earlier in the semester.

She disentangles from Leah only to shove her. “I will stand for _no_ whitewashing of my name, Lisa.”

Leah nearly falls back. Her smile is small, just for Fatin’s eyes, as she latches onto Fatin’s knees to keep from hitting the ground.

Fatin doesn’t notice the other girls’ silence until Shelby lets out a panicked laugh. Shelby jumps to her feet and rushes over to them.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, let’s take a deep breath real quick,” Shelby says, her Texan drawl even thicker with her attempt at a soothing voice. She kneels in between them, one hand on each of their backs. “Let’s not fight before we’ve even gone to sleep, okay? I get that we’re all tired and -”

Fatin and Leah catch each other’s eyes. “Fight?”

“That wasn’t a fight,” Leah says.

“Um,” Nora pipes up. “That’s good to hear and I’m not saying you’re lying or anything, but isn’t it a little fair to look at how Fatin pushed Leah and think, oh. Fight?”

“I _lovingly_ pushed her,” Fatin says.

“Lovingly,” Leah repeats. Fatin wants to flop face-first into the sand.

“They definitely knew each before this,” Toni whisper-shouts to Marty.

“So none of you guys know how to whisper,” Rachel says.

Fatin clears her throat. She waves her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, none of that matters. What matters is I still don’t know Marty’s name.”

“Marty’s _my_ nickname for her,” Toni says.

“Great, then tell me what her actual name is, that’s what I’ve been _asking_ for several minutes now guys, come -”

“Martha.” Martha even sits up and leans past Toni and Dot to offer Fatin her hand. Shaking Martha’s warm hand is pleasantly bizarre. “No worries. Today’s been long and overwhelming. I get it.”

The fire pulses and crackles in the middle of their circle. The ocean rises, crashes, over and over again. Fatin has never seen this many stars before in her life, what could be hundreds of them scattered and glowing above them. It should be beautiful. But looking at it to avoid making eye contact with anyone else just makes her chest ache.

Shelby breaks the silence. “We’re gonna be okay, y’all. I can feel it.”

“Our survival rate is fairly high,” Nora adds. To her left, Rachel softens and awkwardly rests her hand over Nora’s knee. “I don’t mean - I know Jeanette’s not here but -”

“We know what you mean,” Rachel interrupts. “You’re good, Nor.”

Dot intently looks each of them over. Already, Dot’s fierce protection feels like a bone-crushing hug. “Everyone is feeling fine, right? No one’s hiding any serious, deadly injuries? None of you are allowed to die. We can’t lose another one of us. One was enough, one was way too fucking much -”

Fatin impulsively drapes her hand over Dot’s back. Dot tenses, her shoulders hunching to her ears, but after a second, she relaxes.

“We’re all good. Promise.” Fatin lifts her pinky. When Dot just stares incredulously at her finger, Fatin adds, “C’mon, Dorothy. Don’t leave me hanging.”

“No one calls me Dorothy,” she says right before she hooks her pinky around Fatin’s.

“Correction: no one _used_ to call you Dorothy until today. Get used to it, babe.”

“I think your name’s gorgeous,” Martha says.

Nora nods. Fatin catches a glimpse of Nora’s smile before she hides it behind her knees from where they’re tucked to her chest. “Is it a reference to the Wizard of Oz?”

Dot’s nose wrinkles. “Named after the nurse that gave birth to me. So I’m named after someone who was named after The Wizard of Oz.”

“Dot dressed up as her for fifth grade Halloween,” Shelby informs with a gigantic grin. Her ponytail sways, almost hitting Nora in the face, as she points at Dot. “Your pigtails were the _cutest_!”

“Oh. Glad you remember that,” Dot says on a sigh.

Fatin surprises herself with the laugh that bubbles out of her throat. She leans her knees towards Shelby. “Hey, do you have a - huh. I was just gonna ask if you had a picture on your phone. Fuck, dude.” She stares at her bare feet in the sand, trying to fight against the pressure building in her eyes. If she starts to cry because she forgot they don’t have their phones, she’s going to seem more self-obsessed and vain than she already does.

(She maybe, might kind of like the other girls so far. She wants to assume the best of them. Except that no one ever assumes the best of her, so she’s only being fair in assuming what they have to be assuming about her.)

When Leah’s hand presses to the small of Fatin’s back, tentative but solid, Fatin wants to cry even more. It’s a tiny tender thing. She wants to forget every second of this place the moment they’re gone, but she hopes she never forgets this.

“I’m aware this is probably stupid, so, happily veto this, but.” Nora lifts her wrists and slides one scrunchie off from each. “We could recreate the pigtails? For nostalgia’s sake and because, well, it’s not like we have anything else to do?”

Shelby laughs delightedly. She hooks one arm around Nora’s shoulder. Nora looks mildly terrified but doesn’t inch away, her shoulders dropping when Shelby says, “Oh my gosh, _yes,_ that would be so much fun!”

Martha sits up on her knees and scoots towards Dot. “I would _love_ to do your hair, Dot, if that’s alright.”

“Um,” Dot says.

“We can use Fatin’s make up, add some blush to top it off,” Shelby continues. “Fatin, is that alright?”

All eyes fall on Fatin. Fatin gulps, an inexplicable flicker of guilt sparking inside her at Dot’s continued grimace. “If that’s okay with Dorothy, over here?”

Fatin expects Dot to flat-out refuse. With Shelby and Martha already behind her, Toni smirking, and Nora passing Dot her scrunchies, Dot looks the most pained she has all day. Considering the day they had, that’s saying a lot. 

But then Dot throws her head back and downs the rest of her drink. When she finishes, she wipes her mouth, cracks her knuckles, and leans her head into Martha’s waiting hands. “Fuck it. Let’s do it.”

“Look what you’ve done,” Leah whispers next to her. Her breath tickles Fatin’s shoulder. It doesn’t sound admonishing. Not even teasing. It sounds like a compliment.

It’s only been two weeks since they last spoke and their friendship went up in flames but god, did Fatin miss Leah. She won’t ever find the right string of words to explain how much this - Leah’s half-smile, her hand brushed up against Fatin’s on the sand, and the fact that by some cruel and simultaneously kind twist of fate, Leah got stuck on this island too - means to Fatin.

But as Fatin smiles back at her, she thinks that maybe, she doesn’t need any words. Maybe this is enough.

.

.

.

Not too long later, Toni, Dot, and Rachel fall asleep within minutes of each other. Dot’s hair is still in pigtails but Shelby and Martha carefully remove her make-up.

They’re all still talking, a low murmur to keep from waking everyone up. Fatin’s tired but isn’t ready to drift off yet. She’s successfully avoided deep thought into her parents, brothers, and Audrey. She can’t go there. Not yet.

As Martha explains how she and Toni landed this retreat, through a school raffle Martha won that allowed her to bring a friend with her, Leah stands up. She walks a few feet away, towards the ocean, and plops onto the sand.

Shelby, Martha, and Nora glance in Fatin’s direction.

“She okay?” Shelby asks. It takes Fatin a second to realize Shelby’s speaking to her.

Fatin doesn’t know how she feels about how obvious it is that she and Leah know each other well. But she appreciates that Shelby asked and asked Fatin at that.

“I’ll check on her,” Fatin says. She climbs to her feet and pads off towards Leah. Her bare feet launch sand in the direction of her back. She doesn’t even care that she’s not wearing shoes, is getting sand all over herself, and could step directly into a twig. That’s how concerned she is. Though, if she does impale her foot with a twig, she’ll make Leah pull it out.

“I counted to see how long it might take you to walk here,” Leah says without looking back.

Fatin’s heart squeezes. She doesn’t know what to acknowledge first: that Leah counted, that she voluntarily admitted it, or that she recognized Fatin from the sound of her footsteps.

She swallows, her dry throat even drier, and settles next to Leah. She keeps a safe three inches between them. Her knees to her chest, she stares out at the ocean. One day, she hopes she can look at the ocean and not be resentful but grateful for where the waters took her. “Did I disappoint?”

“No. I was scared you wouldn’t come at all and then you went and took just twenty-two seconds to get here to me. The last time we saw each other, I yelled in _your face_ and yet -” Leah’s voice breaks. She looks at Fatin the same second Fatin looks at her. They’re not even touching but it sends a spark of electricity across her skin. “God, I’m so sorry. I was such a cunt to you.”

“Yeah,” Fatin says. She shrieks out a laugh as Leah kicks her foot. “But so was I. I’m sorry too, okay? I didn’t mean any of it. The shit I said was fucked up. I wish I could take it back. Take all of it back.”

“All of it?”

“Not us. I don’t - I don’t regret that. But maybe I do regret that it took us ending up on the same bullshit retreat and this fucking plane-crash for us to - I mean, I don’t know if we’re friends again, but -”

“Fatin?”

Fatin only now notices how quickly her heart is racing. She feels that deep-sleep-dream kind of hazy. Like this is a step or two away from reality. Too good to be true, but too real that her heart might break if it’s not. “Yes?”

“Do you remember?”

“I don’t know how you expect me to respond to that with anything but _remember what,_ girl, what -”

Leah’s raspy laugh warms Fatin to the bone. She balls up her sleeves over her hands and pushes her hair away from her face. “I know none of us can remember the plane actually crashing and hitting the water or anything. But right before that, when we realized what was happening, what do you remember?”

It only happened earlier today but the memory of it - the girls’ screams, the rumbling of the failing engine, the violent queasiness as they fell out of the sky, her life flashing before her eyes in what she thought would be her final moments - makes her stomach lurch.

Because she gets it, and because she’s Leah, she slides her leg over until her knee presses against Fatin’s. It cuts through the fog and helps Fatin revisit the exact moment Leah’s asking about.

“Yeah,” Fatin manages through the lump in her throat. “Even in the face of death, when I was trying to get to you, you still had to bitch at me about my seatbelt.”

Leah laughs again and all of the tension in Fatin’s body seeps out. “Yeah, because you were _in the face of death_. But, um. For what it’s worth, I tried - I tried to get to you too. But you were at the front and it was too far and I hit my head against the fucking window instead.”

“I didn’t see you hit your head,” Fatin says, aware that is not the relevant part of what Leah has said but also aware that she might start crying and might never stop if she acknowledges the rest. “Did you see me hit mine on my seat?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, what the fuck? Your last memory of me could’ve been me falling over like a complete dumbass?”

“Okay, I don’t think I have to tell you that the plane was crashing but, you know, it was, so you’re not a _dumbass_ for falling over. And that wouldn’t have been the worst possible last memory because I think we already have that covered.” Leah ducks her head, almost sheepish as she busies her hands with piling sand on and off her toes. “Unless you would’ve liked it better if your last memory of me was actually us screaming at each other in an empty classroom?”

Fatin hooks her chin over her knees. She can’t quite look at Leah so she just joins her in playing with the sand, scooping handfuls out and leaving them in front of Leah for her to play with. “For the past few weeks, I actually thought that would be my last memory of you. So that makes this one infinitely times better by default.”

“But it’s not our actual last memory together. We’ve got time to make a better one ... don’t we?”

“Hm. I appreciate the sentiment. _Don’t_ appreciate the idea that we’ll have lots of time on this island and will, like, die here, because no thanks and no way. Don’t tell me you think we’ll spend more than two, three days max here.”

“I don’t know what I think,” Leah says honestly, causing Fatin’s stomach to twist almost as bad as when the plane started swooping. “But I know that we could’ve died today. One of us _did_ die today, so I don’t - I can’t die without making things right with you. I know that sounds super fucking dumb and overdramatic, but Fatin, I can’t -”

“Hey.” Fatin holds Leah’s gaze and instinctively grabs her hand from within the sand. Leah’s breath audibly catches. She looks surprised and freezes, the same way she did months ago, when Fatin first approached her after class and got her attention by touching her shoulder. The difference this time is that Leah touches Fatin back, her thumb hooking firmly around Fatin’s. “You won’t. The dying part and the not making up part. We’re good, okay?”

Leah’s eyes shine with her shaky smile. She laces their fingers, her fingertips pressed against Fatin’s knuckles. “This is still a living hell so obviously I wish we weren’t here. But I’m glad you’re here.”

A wild flame of hope lights up in Fatin. After this, her parents can’t in good conscience send her to Oregon. Whether her mom leaves her dad or not and if Fatin could ever forgive them don’t matter. She’ll still have some semblance of her life, still, have her brothers and Audrey. She and Leah can be friends again. They’ll get their senior year. They’ll get their lives back.

And maybe, one day, after Leah’s able to throw away that waste of trees that constitutes a book and the man that wrote it out of her head, Fatin can finally let herself think about the way her heart beats when she thinks about Leah and -

“Holy shit,” Fatin says so loudly that Leah startles. “You _brought it_?” She has no idea how she’s only now noticing Leah’s copy of _The Science of Her._ It’s tucked underneath Leah’s thigh, half-in-view, the cover of which Leah’s left-hand caresses.

Leah drops it face-down on her lap, leaving the stupid face of Jeffrey Galanis smirking at the sky. “Shut up. I needed something familiar with me, okay, it’s nothing more than that, and it’s not any of your fucking -”

“Bitch, you just said you couldn’t die without being cool with me again and now you’re yelling at me for noticing your book?”

“I’m not _yelling_!”

“People are sleeping, can you stop fucking screaming,” Toni yells out, impressively loud considering she’s half-asleep in Martha’s lap. Rachel mutters just as loudly in agreement.

“ _I’m not yelling,”_ Fatin repeats back to Leah, pitching her voice high.

Leah stares at Fatin.

For one terrible second, the tension drawn between them feels exactly like it did moments before they blew their friendship into pieces in the empty math classroom. It started the same way. Talking about that piece of shit whose name Fatin refuses to even think about. What’s to stop it from ending that way too?

Fatin won’t budge. Even if she’s stuck with Leah for the next few days and, more importantly, has a chance to rebuild what they tore down. That asshole did more than just broke Leah’s heart. He took advantage of her. He knew what he was doing. He got in her head so much so that he’s literally on this island with them.

Leah deserves better. So yeah, when it comes to it, Fatin decides right and then that she won’t act otherwise.

She steels herself, chin up, shoulders down.

“Okay, fine, I brought the book,” Leah says at last. “But for our sake and before Rachel and Toni yell ut us again for waking them up -”

“They were yelling at _you,_ babe.”

“Fatin.”

“Right. You were saying?”

“Right. Let’s just agree not to talk about it.” Leah traces her nail down the spine of her book. Her throat bobs as she tears her eyes away from the book and looks at Fatin. “All that shit back home, we can leave it there, can’t we?”

“We’ll be home soon,” Fatin says, her voice distant to her ears. “Not like it’ll be that long of a _break_.”

“You know what I mean, Fatin.”

Leah means their argument. Her heartbreak over Jeffrey. Fatin’s heartbreak over her father.

Just a few days to pretend like none of that happened. They’re literally in their own bubble, separate from the rest of the world that consists entirely of them. No cello practices, no cheating dad, no fighting with mom, and no fucking boarding school in Oregon.

This island isn’t paradise. But neither was her life before this. Leah’s here and with her, an offer to just press pause and escape their lives. Both things Fatin never thought she’d get to have again.

“Yeah,” Fatin says; with it, the tightness in her chest finally lets up. She takes in a deep breath. For the first time today, maybe even longer, she truly feels the air in her lungs. Leah’s still looking at her intensely, her lip caught between her teeth. Fatin doesn’t know if Leah’s letting Fatin see just how worried she is or if Fatin just knows how to read her.

She does know that this is her second chance and she’s taking it.

“We’re gonna be rescued soon, alright?” Fatin uses the hand not already in Leah’s to clasp Leah’s shoulder as firmly as she can. “We’re gonna be fine. But you and me? We’re already okay. Water under the bridge or in this case, I don’t know. Parts of the plane under the ocean. Or _in_ the ocean? Is this metaphor working?”

“Absolutely not,” Leah says.

Before Fatin can put up a front that she’s offended, in the blink of an eye, Leah closes the gap between them. She wraps her in a hug that almost knocks Fatin backwards onto the sand. Their knees bump. Their legs tangle. Their elbows knock together in the fumble to figure out where to place them. It would be suffocating if it weren’t Leah. 

“But the sentiment is still appreciated,” Leah says. “This, um, hugging thing isn’t normally my thing. I’m pretty sure I elbowed you in two different places.”

“Oh, you did.” Fatin settles her arms around Leah’s middle, rests her cheek against Leah’s shoulder. She breathes her in. Leah still smells the same, citrusy, clean, and completely her, and Fatin hopes with everything against logic that it won’t change in the days they’re here. “But the sentiment is still appreciated. So. I take it we’re officially good, Rilke?”

Fatin feels Leah smile’s against her hairline, her breath against her forehead as Leah murmurs, “We’re good, Jadmani.”

(It doesn’t last long. Not even a full two days.

That’s the thing they’ll learn very, very soon: everything you want to leave behind follows you wherever you go.

Especially to a deserted island with no distractions, nowhere to run, and nothing to do but deal.)

.

.

.

Here’s the thing: Fatin’s, like, really trying, okay?

Even if she’s not conducting an inventory like Dot, providing medical aid to Martha’s leg like Toni, or checking out the mountains on this hellscape like Leah, Rachel, Nora, and Shelby. Yes, she’s aware that she’s the only one technically not doing anything.

But.

Help is on the way. She’s glad the women around her are capable, active, and resourceful, girl power or what the fuck ever, but also? 

It feels a little extra. 

In this day and age, there’s no way a plane full of young, promising women won’t be found. Her dad is a breathing pile of garbage but he’s got contacts. Her parents are rich, polished, and also extremely annoying when they want something. (Like Fatin out of their lives.)

Regardless of what happened, they would make the living hell of missing a daughter everyone else’s problem. 

And Fatin doesn’t know much about everyone else’s family but they must all have people who give a shit. She gets the sense that Rachel and Nora’s parents are well-off too. Shelby’s dad is, like, the boss of her church; their family is no doubt picture-perfect with a white fence and 2.5 kids, so the media would lose it over that. She’s not sure about Toni and Martha’s families. But the animated way Martha talked about their school community last night means they have hundreds of people losing their minds right now.

And Fatin’s met the Rilkes. There is nothing they wouldn’t do to bring their daughter home.

So, Fatin’s fine. (Well. All things considered and while ignoring the image of her brothers laying in her bed, the way they always do whenever they can’t sleep, and waiting, waiting, waiting for her to come home.)

She doesn’t understand why they’re all busting their asses. She’s told them this repeatedly. Has reminded them that there’s no point in scoping the island, counting everything they have, and making a campground when help is on the way.

For whatever reason, this is not well-received.

The number of times Rachel has rolled her eyes at Fatin is higher than the number of words she’s said to her.

Toni looks like she wants to scream the few times Fatin has said that Martha’ll be fine when they’re ‘picked up’. Nora asks what Fatin means by ‘picked up’ and is pointedly quiet when Fatin answers her.

Shelby looked horrified when she realized that Fatin’s stash of condoms, birth control, and lube is all hers and not collected from multiple girls here. _You needed ... all that for one weekend?_ she’d asked. Fatin tried to remember Shelby’s probably just sheltered and not judgemental. A hard task from how vaguely nauseous Shelby looked.

Marth’s an angel. An angel with Toni at her constant side. Considering how many times she’s fought with Shelby in less than forty-eight hours, Fatin feels justified in being a little afraid of Toni.

And Dot, well.

Dot’s different.

“Are you done now?”

“I’ll be done faster if you help me,” Dot says patiently. She tosses Fatin’s hot pink crop-top directly into Fatin’s nose. Fatin can’t even be mad because damn, Dot has game. And Dot also looks insanely adorable with her delighted laugh and her pink cap crooked in her hair. “Am I correct in assuming you know how to count?”

Fatin wipes the sand off of her crop-top with a snort. “Yes, _but_ -”

She’s interrupted by another one of the stupid retreat’s caps striking her shoulder.

“Stop assaulting me,” Fatin huffs, pinching the cap off the ground with two fingers. She tosses it haphazardly onto the piles of the clothes Dot has already sorted and folded, too grossed out to acknowledge Dot’s exasperated _excuse me_. “Especially with this tasteless tacky crap.”

Dot lifts the shirt in her lap and unfolds it. “Right because _beach don’t kill my vibe_ isn’t tacky or tasteless?”

“It’s funny. And a Kendrick Lamar reference.”

“I thought it was a beach thing?”

“It is.”

“So how is the beach related to -”

“Dorothy. You would finish counting inventory if you stopped dissecting the meaning of my shirts when they’re just hot and fun.”

“But I don’t get it.”

Fatin sighs. “Neither do I, girl. Neither do I.”

Dot frowns one last time at the shirt before she folds it again. “Alright, I should almost be done. Thanks for packing your entire closet for one weekend.”

“This was only half my closet,” Fatin murmurs. She gnaws on her thumbnail, acutely aware that it’s incredibly gross since she hasn’t washed her hand in over a day. But she’s too concerned with the concentrated furrow of Dot’s eyebrow as she methodically sorts through Fatin’s things. “Fuck me. I can’t believe I’m saying this but move over.”

“Hey, you agreed it was fair that I got the shade since I’m counting -”

“What? No, it’s - ugh. I fucking hate my parents.”

“Oh? Well. I bet they really hate themselves right now if that helps.”

“It does.” Fatin groans, sitting up on her knees to squeeze between her suitcase and Dot. “They’re the reason I’m stuck here and I have to share all my shit and -”

Dot tilts her head. “Are you so pissed off at your parents that you’re folding?”

“And counting!” Fatin says through gritted teeth as she untangles her bras. “I’m finishing this. I’m not about to go hiking or swimming for the rest of our shit and don’t ever ask me to cook because that’ll be a bigger disaster than our plane-crash, but you, Dorothy?” She looks away from the only things she has left of herself from back home, to Dot.

Dot looks beyond bewildered. But still adorable with her cap now even more crooked atop her head, in Fatin’s “I’M SEXY AND I KNOW IT” tee, and sprinkles of sand on her lap.

“You’re chill,” Fatin says. ‘Chill’ means Dot hasn’t given her shit for not wasting any energy trying to save themselves, accepted Fatin's extensive sex-kit with nothing but a shrug and a compliment - Fatin would kill to actually be Planned Parenthood’s poster-child, imagine all the free shit she’d get!? - and stepped into their role of peacemaker with grace. Whether Dot realizes it or not, she’s already holding them all together with her practicality, neutrality, and knack for this wilderness shit.

Fatin doesn’t say that. Instead, she offers Dot a slanted smile, bumps their knees together, and adds, “Plus, you’re the only one here that can stand me, so I’ve gotta play extra nice to keep that standing, don’t I?”

Fatin notices just how tired Dot is when Dot laughs, the lines underneath her eyes more pronounced. She plops onto the ground. It’s a testament to how exhausted Fatin is too that she doesn’t complain about how Dot will definitely ruin her shirt from all the sand.

“Please.” Dot tucks her arms underneath her head, squinting at the sky. “I’m not the only one who likes you.”

Fatin’s glad Dot can’t see her smiling stupidly at the bottom of her suitcase. “Aw, you like me?”

“Uh, yeah, dude.”

“I would totally hug you right now if we weren’t sweating and gross.”

“Thanks? Look, subtlety isn’t my thing, so what I was trying to imply is that someone _else_ likes you.”

Fatin hums as she rummages through the small pockets in her suitcase. “Martha doesn’t count, she likes every - _hey_!” Clutching the pair of sunglasses thrown at her back, she whirls around and fixes Dot with a glare. “Is this what you do when you tell someone you like them? Throw their own _shit_ right back at them!?”

“You totally ignored my question last night,” Dot says, _ignoring_ everything Fatin had just said. “About Leah. But like you said, I’m chill. I won’t ask.”

Fatin opens her sunglasses and slides them up her nose. “Right. That’s totally you not asking.”

Dot just shrugs and closes her eyes. She basks in the sunshine, her arms and legs spread out in the sand.

Fatin tries to stay annoyed but fails miserably, unable to stand any silence right now. She’s never had breaks like this before. Not that this constitutes a break but still. Her time alone is never spent alone but with her cello, schoolwork, and the glorious distraction of her phone. With none of those things, no younger brothers to annoy her and annoy back, no Audrey, and not even her mom to fight with, Fatin’s doubly in uncharted territory.

Her options right now are either learn to get used to complete quiet and her own company. Or annoy Dot.

Guess which one she’ll pick.

“Don’t be jealous,” Fatin proclaims, joining Dot on the sand. It’s unbearably hot but it’s soft too as she lies in front of Dot, their heads almost touching. “I like you too.”

She hears Dot chuckle. Fatin grins into her hands, pleased with herself. Maybe it’s alright that no one else here but Leah is charmed by Fatin if Dot’s warmed up to her and even laughs at the stupid shit Fatin says.

“As long as neither of you kill each other, I’m good,” Dot says.

Fatin’s throat dries. She reaches blindly for her Diet Coke can. She forgets about rationing and saving up for the next few days and drinks until her heartbeat doesn’t ring in her eyes. “Why would we _kill_ each other?”

“There just seemed to be like some - I don’t know, awkwardness. Don’t worry, I’m not asking for the _hot goss_ -”

“Babe, no one says hot goss -”

“But you knew what I meant!” Dot says so cheerily that Fatin leaves it alone. “Anyway, I’m not asking for the full story or anything. Yesterday, it just seemed like there was a bit of tension?”

“What!? Was there tension this morning!?”

“What, no you guys seemed like, cool, today, I guess. I wasn’t paying attention because you know, the whole _stranded_ thing’s really got my focus right now. As long as you’re both good and it won’t complicate anything here, then whatever, right?”

Far ahead, to the point where they’re just four moving specks, Fatin spots Leah, Shelby, Rachel, and Toni returning from their trek to the mountain. Despite the distance, Fatin recognizes Leah instantly. Just like that, her wild heartbeat finally settles and tension she didn’t know she was holding is released. She wonders if - no, she just knows that Leah can see her from this far too.

“Right,” Fatin says. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. We’ll behave. Pinky promise. I’m sticking my pinky out so you’re legally obligated to pinky promise me back.”

“The wild has no law.” But Dot’s already reaching back and searching for Fatin’s pinky with her own.

_._

_._

_._

“I really like this jacket, Fatin.”

Fatin takes one last appreciative glance at half of her freshly-painted toenails before she looks up at Martha. “You should. You’re fucking glowing in it.”

It’s true. Fatin’s pink and black jacket looks perfect on Martha who accepts the compliment with a shy smile. Martha sits perched on one of the giant rocks, fiddling with Fatin’s compact mirror. “I know you don’t really have much of a choice but I appreciate you letting us wear your clothes. It’s nice of you.”

Fatin nearly drops her nail polish. Martha won’t think it’s nice that Fatin’s keeping some of her things to herself. It’s not a lot. Just a few of her dad’s watches, jewelry her mom had given her, some of her favourite clothes.

But Martha’s smiling so earnestly at Fatin that Fatin just exclaims, “No problem! What’s mine is yours! Survival is all about team-work, right?”

“Right.” Martha stares at her lap. She pokes her bare knee and lets out a strangled cry. “I’m so frustrated with my leg. I _want_ to do something, anything to help out but instead, I’m the one weighing us down.”

“What? You’re not weighing us down.”

“Yes, I am! You’re literally here to babysit me.”

Fatin laughs so hard that she does drop her nail polish this time. It lands in the gooey sand puddle by her feet. She ignores it - it’s forever gone now - and sits right to Martha. “Girl, I’m here because I’m not about to wander this dystopia or drown for a box I already know doesn’t work. _You_ have a legit reason to be sitting around. Don’t feel bad about it. We’ll be out of here soon, and a nurse’ll patch your leg up, and you and Toni can, like, cuddle in your hospital bed. But for now, just follow my lead. Keep sitting around and looking cute while you do it.”

Martha’s tinkle of laughter tugs an involuntary smile from Fatin. Fatin’s pretty sure that if sunshine had a sound, it would be Martha’s laugh. “Thank you, Fatin. I just - I don’t know, a lot about this situation sucks.” She looks past Fatin into the distance. Fatin follows her line of vision and finds Toni taking a nap in the sand. “But it helps having a best friend here, doesn’t it?”

Fatin absentmindedly slides all of her rings off and stacks them onto her middle finger, not knowing which thought to ignore: Audrey, who Fatin didn’t even say goodbye to because she thought she’d see her right before she left for boarding school, or _Leah_ and how much it _does_ help that she’s here. The latter doesn’t make her want to burst into tears. Though, it makes her embarrassed, because, well -

“Leah and I aren’t like you and Toni,” Fatin clarifies. It’s true but it feels like a lie. Like she’s minimizing everything Leah is to her. “I mean, it’s - it’s just different, we’re not _best_ friends -”

“ _Oh,”_ Martha says loudly. Fatin already knows she’s going to want to fling herself into the ocean after what Martha says next. “You’re girlfriends!? I had no idea!”

Yup. The ocean would be better than this right now.

“Martha,” Fatin stammers. Her palms suddenly begin sweating and she can’t stop twiddling her hoop earrings. Why is she so nervous? She breathes confidence. A simple misunderstanding is nothing to be anxious over, especially one involving Leah, and -

Okay, no, fuck that, it’s terrifying. Can Martha just tell how Fatin feels? Can _everyone_? Is it just all over her face? Does she have a ‘Yes, I want to kiss Leah Rilke, no, don’t make me think about it’ sign on her back?

It’s becoming progressively harder to avoid thinking about it here. Before, right after their fight, her life was falling apart and she had too many pieces to even consider Leah’s. Now, everything is so ... still. Slow. Small.

It’s difficult to ignore thinking about her stupid feelings now. Especially with Martha waiting for Fatin’s response, excitement all over her face, in the curves of her huge smile.

“We’re not girlfriends,” Fatin says, slowly to keep her voice from going high. Except the strained way she speaks just makes her sound oddly melancholic.

And makes Martha’s face fall. Hm. Somehow that feels like it didn’t do the trick?

“Ohmygod, I’m so sorry. It’ll be okay,” Martha nearly coos. “Toni _said_ you guys had exes energy but I thought she was just projecting. She’s been healing from a hard break-up, so I assumed it was that -”

Fatin tries to speak but the words won’t come out. That might just be a good thing because it seems like everything she says will just make things worse and paint a more inaccurate picture of her and Leah. She can’t even blame Martha for this. She could’ve avoided this if she’d just said, ‘yup, Leah and me are besties!’ and they would’ve moved on.

“It’s cool that you guys are getting along this well. Don’t worry, I won’t ask any questions or tell Toni. Looks like you want to keep it private and I can keep a secret.” Martha mimes zipping her lips up and throwing the key.

This feels like the kind of thing that will come back to bite her in the ass. So Fatin touches Martha’s shoulder, smiles as warmly as she can, and says, “Thanks so much for your positive vibes, but the thing is -”

_Thunk._

Fatin and Martha separate instantly, turning their heads to the source of the noise.

A few feet away, Toni stands behind half a mannequin. She pets its bald head with a proud smirk. “Told you I’d find you a nice guy, Marty.”

.

.

.

After Shelby and Dot get back, having found a cave for them to move to, the five of them mess around with the mannequin that Fatin has fondly dubbed Marcus.

It’s weird how giddy Fatin feels - from how they’re also calling the mannequin Marcus, Shelby practically joking about Marcus’s dick size, Martha pretending to flirt with him, Toni cheering her on, and Dot’s quiet laughter at them all.

Scratch that. It’s not weird at all. It’s just nice. Fatin almost feels like herself.

And then Rachel, Nora, and Leah return. Rachel calls out to them, lugging the black box with her like a trophy.

But Fatin doesn’t notice it. The second Leah and Nora drop their raft, Leah nearly collapses. Drenched in saltwater and panting louder than her wet feet against the sand, she bends over and clutches her knees. 

Good thing Fatin doesn’t miss a beat and runs to her side instantly. She gets too excited the closer she gets to Leah and trips over her the raft to get to her. But Leah grabs Fatin’s arm before she can fall.

“What the hell happened to you?” Fatin clutches Leah’s shoulders, trying to catch Leah’s eye. “You look terrible.”

“Fuck off,” Leah pants, but there’s no real bite to it. She lets Fatin gather her into a hug without any protest. Fatin tries to hold her up but they end up sinking to their knees. Fatin breathes an apology into Leah’s hair but Leah just sinks into Fatin’s arms, burying her face in Fatin’s shoulder. “Fatin, we -”

“Hey, shut up. Give yourself a minute, catch your breath.” Fatin strokes the back of Leah’s wet hair. She holds her so close that Leah must be able to feel Fatin’s erratic heartbeat calm down with every breath Leah takes. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Leah rasps, her voice muffled by Fatin’s neck. “I’m fine. Almost died getting that fucking black box but -”

“Wait, you found it?”

“That’s what - what I tried to tell you earlier but you told me to shut up.”

“Out of concern for you! It was for your wellbeing!” When Leah doesn’t immediately retort, Fatin almost laughs. She pokes Leah’s stomach and relishes in the shriek of laughter Leah lets out. “Don’t you dare become a mime just to be a little shit about it.”

“A _mime_?”

“Nevermind, shut up,” Fatin mumbles, tightening her arms around Leah’s waist.

Leah croaks out a weak laugh. “Honestly, I’m okay, you don’t have to keep ...” She doesn’t finish the rest of her sentence. Instead, she rests her cheek against Fatin’s shoulder and traces circles on Fatin’s bare back.

They stay like that until Rachel calls after them, telling Leah to hurry up and change into dry clothes so they can all discuss the black box.

.

.

.

As Fatin figured, the black box is a let-down.

But it does successfully retraumatize everyone. As if memories of sinking out of the sky towards their deaths weren’t bad enough, they now have audio of it. Great.

Fatin hopes it doesn’t make her a terrible person for being glad everyone is just as shaken up as she is, but eh. She can live with that.

As they listen, Fatin and Leah reach for the other’s hand at the same time. It’s not exactly comforting. Not with Leah’s vice-like grip and how unintentionally hard Fatin digs her nails into the back of Leah’s hand. It’s not comforting but it steadies her. It feels like a redo for not being able to reach Leah in time when their plane went down. But infinitely times better because for as much is in the air, at least they’re all together, alive, and still here.

Still, everyone’s in a shitty mood. Packing all of their things and having to drag them the entire way to the cave doesn’t help.

Fatin’s trying to squeeze in her last pair of heels into her overflowing suitcase when Leah tugs at Fatin’s right sandal.

Fatin hisses. She waves her foot in front of Leah’s face, a threat to kick her that they both know she’d never follow through with. “Do you want me to trip and fall? On _you_?”

Leah squints up at Fatin. “Why would I want that? That’d be worse for me.”

“I don’t know, you little masochist, you tell me. You clearly like laying on the ground and getting gross crap in your hair and having me almost step on you _numerous_ times. Hey, I’m not judging what you’re into. I don’t kink-shame.”

“Thank you for being so open-minded,” Leah says flatly. “Not that I’m not excited for you to talk about my kinks -”

“Great, I’m excited too.”

“- I was trying to get your attention because, um, have you noticed Martha looking at us a lot, mostly you, and, like, smiling? Isn’t that weird?”

“Right,” Fatin says, twirling her finger through the end of her ponytail. She glances around, ensures that everyone else is far enough and too busy with their own packing to hear them. “About that. She thinks we’re exes?”

Leah’s expression slips. She jumps to her feet, her eyes blown wide. “Why does she think that?”

“Great question! Apparently, we ...” Fatin trails off helplessly, gesturing at the small space between them from where they stand. “We give off that vibe?”

“... We give off the vibe that we’ve fallen out of love with each other?”

“Okay, _no._ We give off the vibe that we, like, broke up but not because we lost feelings for each other. And, under these life-threatening circumstances, we’re getting along again and could get back together.” Fatin blinks. “Or something like that.”

“Oh.” Leah scratches the back of her neck, plastering on a strained smile. “You just let her believe that?”

“I didn’t _let_ her. She just assumed and before I could correct her, Toni brought Marcus in! Look, she won’t tell anyone. So don’t worry about it.”

“It’s not like I wouldn’t want people to know or - I’m not _ashamed_.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“I know, but I don’t want you to think -”

“I don’t,” Fatin says. “And I’m not, like, ashamed either.”

Leah nods slowly. “Okay.”

They share a tentative smile. Fatin politely doesn’t point that they’re not actually talking about a real relationship between them.

Instead, she turns around and resumes packing. On the largest rock, she notices something. “Hey, some of your shit is mixed in with mine. Looks like you’re not actually done packing.”

Leah follows Fatin’s eyeline and hums. “Can I just leave my stuff with yours?”

“Alright, but you’re carrying this suitcase then.” Fatin rummages through Leah’s things. Not like it’s much. Half-hidden underneath Fatin’s neon skirt, Fatin finds Leah’s damp swimsuit from earlier today, a pair of Leah’s sand-filled socks, and -

“Why did you leave _this_ with my shit?” Fatin spins around and shoves Leah’s book into Leah’s chest. Her skin crawls from where the book had met her fingers. Only three seconds of touching it and she wants to scrub her fingers raw.

Leah cradles her book with both hands. Her eyebrows draw together, her only note of confusion; her jaw tightens, her shoulders clench, and she takes a single step towards Fatin. “It’s just a fucking book.”

“Not to you it isn’t. Why would you leave it with my -”

“I heard you the first time. Why does it matter?”

“Why _wouldn’t it_?” Fatin’s fists stay clenched by her side. Her nails sink into her palm to subdue her sudden wave of anger but the sight of Leah, guarding that book like it’s the thing she cares about most, and her eyes flashing at Fatin as if _Fatin’s_ the unreasonable one - it doesn’t help. “It’s not enough that you bring it here but you have to dump it with my crap? Did you fucking expect me to pack that for you?”

“Don’t even,” Leah hisses. She’s already so angry that her voice is raspy, ripping between syllables. “It’s been there all day. Why are you suddenly mad about it now? You’ve had plenty of time today to notice it but right, why would you, you were too busy with the life-saving task of painting your fucking cuticles -”

“I know what you’re fucking doing.” Fatin steps towards Leah. She tilts her head up ever so slightly to meet Leah’s hardened eyes. “Don’t turn it around like that and act as if you’re mad because I’m taking it easy here. You know what I’m talking about and you know why I care.”

“I don’t. Because this is _none_ of your business and we agreed not to talk about it. So, what the fuck?”

“I don’t know, maybe don’t leave your pedophile’s book with my clothes?” 

Leah looks as if Fatin had just slapped her.

Fuck. Guilt pierces Fatin directly in the chest. She falters, her defensive posture slipping, ready to take it back. Half an hour ago, she had run to Leah, sick with worry, and held her for minutes. Even just a minute ago, they were _good,_ all teasing and smiles and not whatever the hell Fatin has just done.

But then Fatin forgets about it when Leah says, “I know the only thing you care about is men but if you could just not obsess over the one in my life, that would be fantastic.”

“Guys,” Dot calls out. Fatin becomes aware that everyone is listening to their argument.

She’s also too busy being angry to care.

Fatin laughs. It’s an ugly, empty sound that Leah blanches at. “The one in your life? Not only are you fucking over Ian, _again_ -”

“Don’t you dare say _his_ name.”

“Fine. There’s only one other time you’ve sounded this batshit insane. Tell me how that worked out for you? Right. You lost two friends over a grown man who’s blocked your number.”

This time, Leah laughs, shaking her head. It sends a chill down Fatin’s spine and leaves a taste in Fatin’s mouth that, after the shitty month she’s had, she easily recognizes as regret. “How did I do it again? How do I keep just falling for your fucking spell, over and over again? You tell me you’re my friend -”

“I _am_!”

“So what’s your problem? What are you even mad about? What did _I_ do to you?”

“I just -” Fatin wants to claw at her chest, tear it open, get rid of the swell of panic and frustration and stupid, useless pain whirling inside her. It’s not Leah’s fault that an asshole took advantage of her. Fatin can’t act like it is. 

She can’t ruin things with Leah again. She just can’t.

“Nothing,” Fatin grumbles. “I just don’t want to see this fuckhole’s face, alright?”

“I’m not getting rid of the book.”

“I’m not asking you to, just - I don’t want to see it.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” Fatin forces herself to take a deep breath in and a deep breath out. She feels herself deflate. Her anger simmers but doesn’t quite flicker out, even when she asks, “We good?”

Leah’s still holding her book to her chest. She doesn’t even look away from it to meet Fatin’s eyes as she mumbles, “Yeah, okay.”

“Um. Are you two actually good?” Toni yells a few feet away.

Leah’s face burns red as she looks over her shoulder and gives a thumbs-up. “Yup. Let’s just all, um - pretend that didn’t happen.”

“Works with me,” Fatin mutters. She swears she sees the corner of Leah’s mouth twitch into a smile.

Dot clears her throat. She’s the only one finished packing and sits idly on their raft. “Let’s finish packing, guys?”

So Fatin continues trying to stuff her heels into her suitcase. She and Leah are good. Sure, neither can look the other in the eye. Yes, they don’t speak. Not while Fatin finishes packing, not on the walk to the cave, and not even when they try falling asleep. And fine, Fatin can’t stop thinking about what the hell Leah meant by how she kept falling for Fatin’s spell.

It’s alright.

Really.

Okay, obviously not.

Fatin’s just waiting for it to blow up in their faces.

.

.

.

“Mm, what time is it?”

“Early enough that it’s weird you’re awake,” Leah responds. “Go back to sleep.”

“But _you’re_ up.” Fatin tosses, turns to her other side where she hears Leah’s voice. Her head is still foggy with sleep. She could easily step back into it and fall right back asleep but Leah’s here, and Leah’s talking to her, and it already feels like their dumb argument yesterday didn’t happen.

“Yeah, well. No one else is.”

“Don’t care.”

“Okay, fine. Don’t open your eyes. You won’t like what you see.”

“Are you masturbating?”

“What? Why would I be -”

Fatin opens her eyes and finds herself an inch away from Jeffrey Galanis’ black-and-white smile. “Fuck me. You could’ve at least moved his face. Or maybe actually told me that you’re reading your love notes right now.”

Leah flips to the next page. “I told you not to open your eyes. Just go back to sleep. It’s not like you’ll do much else today anyway.”

“Mm, pointed comment about how I’m lazy. Nice. Original, too.”

“You can go ahead and insult my love life some more. It’s your favourite and only dig at me.”

“We can talk about Ian and how you completely -”

“Shut up,” Rachel grumbles. “Or bitch outside where we can’t hear you.”

Fatin scowls and turns over, facing away from Leah. Leah flips to another page.

.

.

.

The next two days mostly resemble this.

Leah and Fatin get along for a minute or two. Maybe even laugh, sit close enough in the cave that their knees touch.

But then a nerve will be struck. It’s not even about the book anymore. Leah will get annoyed that Fatin doesn’t fold her clothes away. Fatin will get annoyed that Leah’s telling her how to handle her clothes, the same ones she’s letting everyone else wear. They’ll argue about the clothes but it’s never actually about the clothes.

Or someone will make some crack about how they’re finally getting along. Or even just glance in their direction as if to sense if an upcoming argument is inevitable ... which usually ends up happening because of that anyway.

But it’ll end in another minute or two. They’ll act like it didn’t happen. Repeat.

Fatin considers being an adult, doing what she should’ve done after their first fight at school and then again after their fight about the book here. Just talk to Leah.

But then her mind wanders. What if the argument gets worse and they say even more shit they can’t take back? What if _that’s_ the thing that permanently severs them and then they’re stuck, full-on hating each other on this island until rescue comes? Or what if Fatin blurts something _else_ she’ll never take back but will actually mean with her entire stupid, beating heart and Leah doesn’t feel the same?

It’s stupid. But she was too close to doing that in their argument a few days ago. She can’t risk losing Leah, being rejected by her, and having to stick it out with her anyway all in one go.

She’s already beat her record for the shittest month by a long shot. She’s set, thanks.

So this awkward, walking around each other, ease that easily becomes strained thing between them isn’t the worst option. She can make it work. Half-having Leah is better than not having her at all.

Hm. That sounds like a thought her mother would’ve probably had about her dad, huh?

And _that_ is a whole other can of worms Fatin refuses to open.

The point is, she’s fine. Totally fine.

Enter day six, those Takis, and a contest that Fatin couldn’t give less of a shit about.

.

.

.

After Fatin’s fourth complaint about this stupid contest and the pointlessness of competing for junk food they could just play rock-paper-scissors for, Rachel drops the log she’d been carrying to their work-ground.

“Fatin,” Rachel sighs. “Do you think I want to be doing this either?”

Fatin hums thoughtfully from her spot on the ground as she stacks the few fronds she’d bothered finding. “Well, yeah, you look, like, super into it. Isn’t this a work-out for you?”

Leah snorts as she drops her log onto the pile. “Yeah, no, I think the only one into this is Dot.”

“This is, in fact, my shit,” Dot confirms. She grunts as she deepens the hole she’d been digging.

“You guys are giving me some great eye-candy. Thanks, ladies.” Fatin winks before stretching her arms above her head and fighting off a yawn. “Can I take a break?”

“Sure,” Dot says while Rachel huffs, “Absolutely not, you’ve done jack-shit today.”

Fatin’s jaw drops. “ _Excuse_ -”

“Okay,” Leah interrupts. “How about you find us some more fronds, Fatin?”

Fatin makes a face. “How the fuck is that a break -”

“It’ll be a break from you annoying all of us.” There’s an echo of irritation that’s been between them from the past three days, but the affection in Leah’s voice downplays it. “And you can go on a walk. Isn’t that fun?”

“Great idea,” Fatin says. Rachel looks relieved. Dot just seems pleased they’re getting along and moving forward. And Leah’s smile brightens everything.

.

.

.

That’s why Fatin returns almost an hour later, with dozens of fronds grouped in her hands, freshly-brushed teeth, and a skip to her step. She did what they asked: she found a lot more fronds, took a walk, and took a break. 

She doesn’t know why everyone’s so _pissed_. 

Dot and her fucking inventory. Rachel and her competitive need to win a game she doesn’t want to be a part of.

She doesn’t know why Leah’s pissed either. Except she knows that it has nothing to do with this stupid shelter shit.

If they think she’s going to take this, all three of them glaring at her, ripping her apart for every little thing she’s doing to keep herself sane, while _they’re_ the ones who’ll win them this contest, not her, then they’re wrong. 

“Fuck this.” Fatin storms off, hissing at the wind, the goosebumps all over her legs, the way no one’s _calling after her_ -

“Where are you going, Fatin?”

Fatin’s heart does the tiniest flips at the sound of her name from Leah’s throat. Even then, she doesn’t stop stomping away. Even if her pace slows a little and the muscles in her jaw loosen.

But then Leah says, “Fucking typical. Is that your go-to move? Get bored of something, find it too difficult, and then fuck off without any regard for anyone but yourself?”

Fatin stops. Turns around. Laughs because of _course_. “Ah. So this isn’t about the fucking fort.” 

Leah doesn’t move a muscle. Not a single flick in her expression gives her away. She doesn’t even look Fatin in the eye.

Fatin marches back, invades her space. If Leah wants to do this again but for real, then fine. “This is about Jeffrey.”

“You know sure as fuck that it isn’t.”

“Really? Because _he’s_ the only thing that’s gotten in the way of -”

“Is he? Is he really?” Leah looks Fatin in the eye. “Or do you just make it about him all the fucking time? What the hell about me wanting Ian to call him or me having his book matters to you? There’s more to me than one fucking guy, I’d think you of all people would know that.”

“Fuck you, what - what? What are you talking about?”

Leah falters. “You - you _know_ what.”

“Clearly, I don’t. I have no idea what you mean. I don’t fucking walk away and I didn’t - oh my god, are you serious? You thought I was just getting _bored_ of you? That I think the only interesting part of you is a failed writer?”

“He’s not a _failed_ writer.”

“Guys,” Dot shouts.

“Are you kidding me?” Fatin snaps. “First, you accuse me of being a big enough cunt that I only talked to you because Audrey was gone and now ... newsflash, asshole. I. Like. You. Or I thought I did. ‘Cuz I’m just some flighty idiot who can’t actually care about you, right?”

“You are an idiot,” Leah says, “if you think that’s what I actually think. And don’t even say his name again because you’re insane if you think he’s still -”

“Yeah, no, anything you say is automatically discredited by the fact that you still have his book. But I don’t even care about that.”

“Bullshit.”

“I don’t. He’s the prick, not you. It’s not about him - I just don’t get why you can’t trust me. Why you can’t look at me and just see me. I really fucking thought you did. But just like everyone else, you look at me and just see all the worst parts -”

“Fatin, come on,” Rachel tries.

Fatin stumbles back. She can’t see much through the blur in her eyes. She hates being an angry crier. “No, don’t act like you and everyone else here don’t see me as a lazy, self-obsessed slut.”

“We don’t,” Dot insists.

“Right.” Another nasty laugh tears out of Fatin’s throat. “Like I didn’t ruin your precious inventory, Dorothy, like I ruin -” Everything else. Her parents’ marriage. Her mother’s reputation, possibly her career. Her brothers’ faith in their father, their love for her. Her own education; no way whatever As she can pull at a boarding school will be worth as much to Juilliard as what was supposed to be her final year at East Bay Academy of Art. 

“Just help us with the shelter,” Rachel says almost pleadingly. She removes her cap and wipes her damp forehead.

Fatin gestures to their nearly-finished shelter. “You’ve clearly got this. I’m out of here.” She turns around, doesn’t even make it half a step before Leah tugs on her wrist.

“Fatin, just -”

Fatin rips her arm out of Leah’s grasp but Leah doesn’t budge. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“I’m fucking trying here,” she says quietly, strained from the cracks in her voice. Fatin hears the note of irritation but she also hears something else, something softer, something she can’t quite bear. “So just stay. We can’t afford to be pissed off at each other right now.”

Leah’s right. 

But so is Fatin. She’s done with the destruction and disappointment she seems to constantly carry with her. She didn’t ask for any of this. But no one else asked to deal with Fatin either. “I’ll do us a favour, save you the fucking trouble -”

Leah drops Fatin’s wrist and crosses her arms. Her anger is quiet. It drives Fatin insane; she wants to ask why Leah’s not yelling, why she’s not crying, why she’s not shaking with hurt the way Fatin is. But maybe it’s better this way.

They stare each other down. Rachel and Dot both say something but Fatin can’t process it, can’t process anything but the steadiness of Leah’s eyes and the fracturing inside her chest. 

“If you leave, I’m not going after you,” Leah says at last. 

“I wouldn’t have wanted you to,” Fatin lies and finally storms off.

She heads towards their empty campground to stock up. Just her water, a snack, maybe a _little_ more than that, and a few of her things she has the right to take, anyway. 

Maybe the worst part about this island isn’t the loneliness of being away from her family and friends. Maybe it’s that she’s just never fucking alone.

But now that she is, she can’t help but ask herself: how many more times is she going to keep walking away from Leah Rilke?

(The actual answer is that she’ll never do it again. This is the last time. Fatin doesn’t know that yet, of course, but she will very soon.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! don't kill me! i pinky promise there's a point to this, it'll come together, it's not just arguments for the sake of it, etc. 
> 
> i know another kind of falling out on the island was implied anyway from the description but i still really wanted to stress that anyway!! <3 you probably have an idea of the scene(s) that'll follow fatin storming out on her own and i cannot overstate how excited i am to write/share what i have planned for that.
> 
> i also want to just say!!! thanks again for the lovely comments. every single one means *so much* and i'm so touched. :')) i'd love to know your thoughts on this one, especially on the other girls! going into this chapter, i was suuuper intimidated by going from focussing on just these 2 to adding in the 6 other girls, but they're so FUN and i just love them so much oh my god
> 
> i hope you're all doing well! stay safe, take care, and all the love <3 see u next time!


	5. Chapter 5

Fatin makes it all of ten minutes before she bursts into tears. 

Completely alone in the woods, she knows no one can see her cry. 

Still, Fatin bites her lip to silence the guttural sob fighting to break free. She tilts her head towards the sky, glancing upwards to keep the second wave of tears from spilling out. She carefully sets down all of the things she’d brought - not stolen, _brought_ \- with her, the extra cans of water, and her dad’s watch. She even removes her jacket, folds it neatly, mindful of the two bottles of nail polish she’d slotted into her pockets, and leans it against a tree.

Even in the middle of falling apart, she’s still fucking thinking about the most appropriate way to break down. She can’t just _break_.

“No one is here, just fucking cry,” she snaps. She digs her nails into her palm as the tears refuse to come out.

Her parents used to tell her that her fingers were made for the cello. It was meant to instill confidence in her, assure her that the cello belonged to her as much as she belonged to it. 

It became something Fatin would tell herself. To calm down in the middle of practicing a challenging piece. To relax before a big performance. To remind herself each and every time she wanted to quit.

Somewhere down the line, the warm surge of confidence associated with the mantra darkened. All it inspired was resentment. She still loved it. She just hated how it was the most important thing about her. What was she, what could she _be_ without it?

What good were these fingers for if not this?

Here, in the middle of the woods on this island, where not a single soul knows where she is, Fatin thinks she finally has another answer for it.

Her fingers are perfect for destruction. What she touches is what gets ruined. The fabric of her family, the bonds she’s been building with these girls these past few days, and what she’s been rebuilding with Leah. 

And herself, of course. She ruins herself, over and over again. 

She can and she has pointed fingers at her too-frequent practices, her cheating father, her rigid mother, this retreat, this _island._

But strip it all away. 

What’s left?

Her.

It’s a disconcerting realization to have as she sinks to the dirt and screams into her palms. 

Mostly, though, it’s just fitting.

.

.

.

She keeps walking.

She sips the water she stole and eats the nuts she stole and checks the watch she stole. 

She’s pretty sure she’s going in circles.

She’s also pretty sure she hates herself.

But hey, at least she’s not crying anymore.

.

.

.

Then she starts crying again. 

It’s just that Fairhan’s soccer championship is tomorrow. She and Faizan always make big signs that she decorates but makes him hold because they look hilarious in his tiny hands. 

Their dad comes up with a cheer that Fatin and Faizan recite with joy. Their mother always tells them to shut up because it’ll be picked up in the video she’s taking. 

So they’ll cheer even louder and get her to join in. They get so loud that Fairhan hears them from the field and grins his dorky grin. Faizan screams, “That’s my big brother!” and Fatin’s dumb heart squeezes with pride for the people her brothers are becoming.

Her brothers are so small. They’re so good. They don’t deserve this. Their awful father, their parents’ recently-strained marriage, and now, Fatin’s disappearance. 

She’ll see them soon. She’ll see them, and she’ll apologize for making everything so difficult, and she’ll promise to be a better sister and then she will be.

She’ll be better. 

She swears.

.

.

.

Fatin tries to nap. She uses her jacket as a blanket, a pile of moss as a pillow. It’s not her proudest moment, but that seems to be a recurring theme of the day.

It’s meant to be a reprieve from her aimless walking and the burden of thinking right now. Instead, it lets her brain race faster and faster. Her mind drifts to her father.

She hopes wherever he is, he’s suffering. Crumbling underneath the weight of his own guilt the same way Fatin is right now. 

He was her friend. He got that right. Except he was never supposed to be. She’d never needed a friend in him. She just needed her father to be her dad. He’s the reason she’s here yet he couldn’t even walk her in the airport, look her in the eyes, and say goodbye. She can’t remember what she last said to him. She can’t stop remembering what she said to her mother.

Was he right about the rest of it? 

Fatin’s whole fucking problem is that he won’t walk away from their family. But he’s done everything else. Betrayed them, broke their trust, prioritized his disgusting wants over their needs. 

He’s staying with her mom despite knowing she deserves the world and he’s only taking it away from her. 

He shipped Fatin away because he couldn’t handle his angry, heartbroken daughter anymore.

Fatin never inflicted this kind of damage on her family. But now, under the afternoon sunlight, her arms spread out in the dirt, nothing but branches and leaves and green in her vision, she can admit why she leaked his photos and texts. She’d wanted revenge. She’d wanted his embarrassment, confusion, and overwhelming pain to hurt more than it did for her. She’d wanted her mother to leave him. 

But was that about wanting the right thing for her mom or punishment for her dad?

And while those girls aren’t her family or even her friends, they’re her something. Not nothing. Yet she walked away from them like they were. She betrayed them. She broke their trust. She took the rest of their water and some of their food. 

They’re competing in a stupid contest to split a bag of wet and dried Takis because it’s the right thing to do and she just _took_ without caring.

And Leah. How could she hurt someone she cares about _so much_?

Love isn’t supposed to hurt. Leah’s doesn’t. Leah’s love is the wind in her hair, static laughter over a video-call, feet brushing underneath a table in the library, hands more than brushing but not quite holding one another, and smiles felt right to the heart. 

Fatin loves deeply, truly. She knows that. She doesn’t know what it’s worth, though. If it’s anything more than a weapon.

She lifts her wrist. Her father’s watch burns into her skin. She wants to throw it at a tree. Feel it crack under her feet. Chuck it into the ocean. 

Except as she watches the clock tick forward, she knows she can’t. It’ll help the girls keep track of the time. They need it more than she does.

Fatin sits up. Her back aches. Her head pounds. Her cheeks haven’t even dried yet. But her feet are ready to keep going but to move now with purpose.

It’s been about four hours since she stormed off. She’s got maybe another three hours until sunset. Two hours to do something useful or two hours to at least just try.

Maybe everything from before the crash has followed her here. She doesn’t have to deny it anymore. She’s still the person she was before the island but she’s also whoever she’ll become after it. Stuck in the middle of that, she gets to decide who that is.

Someone who tries. Cares. Loves. That was Fatin before, it’ll still be Fatin after, but she’s going to do a better job of it starting now.

She stands to her feet. Takes a swig of her water. Stuffs the cans and nail polish into her jacket pockets. 

“Okay,” she says to herself. The gap between the two trees ahead of her is just big enough for her to walk through. “You fell out of a fucking plane a week ago and mastered Bach at ten. Literally, nothing will be as difficult as that.”

She takes in a deep breath until she feels it in her chest and steps forward.

.

.

.

For someone who cannot drive in the area she’s lived in all her life without using Google Maps, she’s fucking killing this. Dot would be proud. Having sensible direction seems like a big part of wilderness survival.

She starts by retracing her steps until she returns to where she’d first entered the woods. She marks her starting point with a patch of her pants.

It’s difficult to tear it off. This is an _expensive_ tracksuit but her stubbornness costs more. Her fingers are strong and win the fight against her pants, tearing off enough to stab into a branch. For good measure, she rips more horizontal stripes off and stuffs them in her pockets.

Then she just keeps going. Even with her attempts at tuning into her surroundings and her attempts at being observant, it’s still so goddamn boring. 

As she delves deeper into the heart of the island, she creates a list of everything she’s going to tell Audrey when she gets back. First, she’ll tell Audrey that she was annoyingly right. She’ll admit that _fine,_ she does get soft around Leah. 

But she’ll also tell her about the other girls. How they all remind her of Audrey in the tiniest of ways. 

Nora’s penchant for doodling in her journal, the ink stains she gets on her fingers reminiscent of the ones Audrey always gets from the diligent school notes she takes. 

Rachel’s early morning laps around the campground, her back curved to gain speed and propel herself forward. It’s the same technique Audrey uses for cross country. 

Shelby’s soft singing voice she uses sometimes during their daily ‘shower’ or to start off her day in the morning. Audrey does it too, singing to herself to fill the silence all the time.

And of course, how Toni’s an Aries like Audrey.

She’ll make sure she describes each girl before she tells Audrey about this: the first good thing she’s done on this hell-hole.

Fatin doesn’t really believe in coincidences. It means _something_ that she’s thinking about her best friend and the seven girls on the other side of this forest when she finds the waterfall. 

She hears it before she sees it. Her heartbeat jumps and jumps as she ducks below protruding branches, steadies her footing with a hand on each passing tree, and enters the narrow pathway. She doesn’t stop until it’s there before her eyes.

She laughs until she cries, beaming at the waterfall. The streams of water above her, the pool of it beneath her, the solid rock all around her, and how everything is painted with a vibrant hue, colour the way she has never seen it before.

Her heartbeat isn’t jumping anymore. It’s soaring.

.

.

.

Fatin takes her time exploring the waterfall. She walks around leisurely, examining every angle of it. She rolls her pants up, dips her calves into the cool water. She sits at the very top, her legs dangling in the air, and sips another can of Diet Coke. She has another full bottle left but she’d already drunk more than was hers. 

But she’s going to make up for it. She’ll fill every can with water, head back to the campground, lead them back here, and apologize on the way. It’ll go brilliantly.

The second Fatin gets up to leave, she notices the sun is already setting.

Okay. It’ll go brilliantly tomorrow.

.

.

.

Surprisingly, Fatin falls asleep easily. 

Unsurprisingly, she wakes up late. It’s noon. She tries to return to sleep but her hunger pangs disturb her until she’s forced up. 

She drinks half of her last Diet Coke. Rinses her legs and splashes her face in the water. And gets to work.

She has to mark a trail leading back to the waterfall before she can show this to everyone. So that’s what she does.

.

.

.

Fatin goes back and forth a few times. The hunger and isolation of one day make her distrust her own mind. This should be easier, she thinks as she tries cutting another piece of her tracksuit but instead, trips, falls over, and scrapes her leg. Her blood soaks the fabric, the dirt, her fingers.

Still. She manages to rip her pants in the end. A win is a win. 

But the scrap does make her fully switch to her using her nail polish instead. 

She’s painted her sixth tree when she hears a scream. 

Before she even recognizes that it’s her name being called out, she recognizes the voice first.

Leah’s distant but unmistakable voice lights Fatin up from the inside. She doesn’t waste a second, rushing towards the source of the repeated calling of her name. She hears all the girls’ voices and that only brightens her more until she’s glowing and glowing and glowing. 

And then she sees her.

Streaked with mud, all over her hair and face and clothes, calling out Fatin’s name with the rasp in her voice that Fatin loves, and a wild panic in her blue eyes, Leah looks awful. Fatin’s heart has never been this full. 

Fatin grins as she spots each girl walking into view behind Leah. “Hey-oh!” 

It’s a magical thing, seeing the recognition flicker in Leah’s eyes followed by immediate and overwhelming relief. Leah doesn’t smile but Fatin sees it in her eyes all the same. Leah speeds towards her. She slips down the steep bump in the ground but doesn’t let it stop her, launching herself forward towards Fatin until they’re a foot apart.

“What the hell happened to you?” Fatin’s grin softens into a smile. Leah doesn’t respond. She’s still staring at Fatin as if she can’t trust that Fatin is actually here. Cautious but hopeful, Fatin wipes away the smudge of mud on Leah’s cheek. “Of course you’d still fucking look gorgeous in mud, could you give the rest of us a chance at -”

Leah surges forward. She envelops Fatin into a hug so tight, fierce, and strong that it tips Fatin over. They both hit the ground. Gasps sound from the girls behind them. Fatin thinks her leg might be bleeding but she doesn’t feel the prerequisite pain.

All she feels is Leah’s face burrowed in the space between Fatin’s neck and shoulder, Leah’s arms clinging around Fatin’s middle as if they’ll never let her go. 

“Fatin,” Leah grumbles. Her voice cracks gorgeously again, right in the middle of Fatin’s name. Fatin can’t stop smiling. “God, you can never do that again, okay? Never, never, _never_.”

Fatin cups the back of Leah’s head and drapes her other hand over the small of Leah’s back. She knows the girls are here, watching, waiting. She could never forget about them but she needs this first. “What, I can never be useful again? Dude, you were just giving me shit for being useless and now that’s exactly what you want me to be?”

Leah laughs against the ticklish spot in Fatin’s neck. She holds Fatin closer, gentler. “Call yourself useless again and I’ll -”

“Tackle me further to the ground?”

“You’re not useless. You’re not. You’re annoyingly wonderful and we need you so you can’t leave like that again, okay? You have to - you have to promise me, okay, please, just _promise_.”

Fatin nods rapidly. She knows, now, with complete certainty that she’s never leaving Leah. Not like she had yesterday. Not ever again. “Okay, I promise.”

“I’m _serious_!”

“Oh my god, so am I, but maybe it’s hard to convey that while you’re laying over me. I’m this close to having a twig up my ass.”

“Oh no, did I - did I hurt you?”

Fatin pushes at Leah’s shoulder, gesturing for her to lift her head. Leah moves far enough that their faces are an inch apart. The lack of space between them is maddening, but Fatin can’t look away, not even when she says, both sharply and softly, “No. Of course not.”

“Aw.”

Everyone, Fatin and Leah included, turn to look at Martha. 

Martha instantly flushes and scratches at a patch of dried mud on her arm. “They’re sweet! But my bad.” She smiles brightly at Fatin and waves. “Hi, Fatin!”

“Hey-oh,” Fatin says again, more sheepish this time. She attempts a wave at everyone else. She quickly realizes that Nora’s not here, they’re covered in mud, and they look dead-tired. 

Rachel waves back. She manages to make even a hand-gesture look sarcastic. “So. Can we interrupt your hug-fest now or do you two need another minute? It’s fine, we’ve only been looking for you all day.”

“All day?” Fatin asks as she and Leah reluctantly disentangle. She sits on the ground and dusts her hands. “Really?”

Rachel looks confused. “Yes.”

“Shit. Thanks, guys.”

“Thank _you_ for not being dead,” Dot says. “Seriously. I would’ve been so pissed at you if you died, dude.”

“Hey, I promised you no one else would die and a girl’s gotta keep her promise.” Fatin winks, relishing in Dot’s breathless smile. 

Next to Fatin, Leah grunts as she stands to full-height. She wordlessly offers Fatin both hands. When Fatin accepts, Leah pulls her up to her feet. She’s not sure if it’s her hunger, general emotional instability, or if her period is coming early that’s making her want to cry and hug everyone some more. She’s not sure how she could’ve thought that being alone was preferable to this.

Shelby steps towards Fatin, sporting her usual peppy smile. Until she steps on the bottle of nail polish that had rolled out of Fatin’s hand when Leah tackled her. Shelby’s smile slips as she picks it up. “Is that nail polish?”

Rachel’s jaw tightens. “Is this what you’ve been doing? Painting your fucking gel-tips?”

Even Dot’s face is tight, her voice low with disappointment. “We’ve been out of our _skulls_ looking for you.”

“And all this time you’ve been treating yourself to a goddamn mani-pedi,” Shelby snaps.

Fatin stares at them. As grating as it is to once again have the worst assumed of her, she reminds herself that they’ve spent hours looking for her. They don’t know that her ‘fuck-this-shit-I’m-out’ walk lasted a fraction of the time she’s been gone. 

Fatin pries her nail polish out of Shelby’s hands. “Okay, are you done?”

“Holy shit,” Leah says softly. “You found something. Didn’t you? That’s what you meant by saying you’d been useful - which, you always are, okay, even though you’re lazy as fuck, you’re still -”

“Okay, love the validation and kind words and shit. Great work you two, glad you’re patching it up,” Toni interrupts, sounding half-way sincere. “But Fatin? The fuck? _Did_ you find something?”

Fatin laughs, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She’s spilling with excitement even if the girls still look vaguely annoyed and confused. Leah touches the crook of Fatin’s elbow, a quiet encouragement.

“Follow me,” Fatin says. She paints an ‘x’ on the nearest tree before she turns around and leads them there.

It’s more beautiful this time around. This isn’t her first, second, or even third time entering the pathway towards the waterfall. It is her favourite time, though. The greenery is more colourful and alive, the sunshine is brighter, and the crunch of seven sets of footsteps make the sounds of the water all the more beautiful. 

She doesn’t bother gesturing to it. Just beams and takes in their reactions, every note of their cheers, every delighted laugh, every second that Dot tugs on Fatin’s hand excitedly, and engraves it all to memory.

They all race toward the water. Everyone but Leah.

Leah wrings her hands together. Her mouth opens like she wants to say something but no sound comes out. Fatin sees the gears in Leah’s mind turning, knowing that Leah is trying to find the right words.

They’ll have to talk eventually. They’ll find the time but now, not when they aren’t completely alone.

Fatin bumps her arm against Leah’s with a small but smug smile. “You said you wouldn’t come after me.”

Leah loosens. She laughs, the sound warming Fatin to the bone, and bumps Fatin back. “You said you didn’t want me to. I’m guessing we’re both fucking liars?”

Fatin hears the uncertainty and almost-question in Leah’s voice. Her smile quiets, dims into tenderness reserved just for Leah. She holds both of Leah’s shoulders, and, emboldened by the day they spent apart and just by having Leah here and this close again, she leans their foreheads together. 

“We’re both fucking liars,” Fatin confirms in a whisper.

Leah’s smile, the maniacal laughter as the girls splash around in the water, and the overhead trilling of birds flying by is another moment that Fatin holds onto. She’ll never let it go.

.

.

.

Fatin manages to convince Leah to join the others and swim. 

Leah is entirely uninterested in swimming if Fatin isn’t. 

Until Fatin points to her own leg, the dried blood that resulted from their hug, and says, “Apologize by shutting up and going for a swim goddammit.”

It works.

Fatin likes sitting up on the edge, her feet in the air, watching her not-quite-friends tread the water. They look carefree and young. Allowed for one moment to not have to survive but just _live_. 

When Dot calls out to Fatin that she’s never been prouder of her and the rest of the girls cheer in agreement and Leah claps above her head, Fatin feels, for the first time in a while, that her luck isn’t as terrible as she’d thought.

.

.

.

“You’re already done? You weren’t even in for a full fifteen minutes.” 

Toni shrugs as she wrings the water from the ends of her t-shirt. “It’s just water.”

Fatin tries not to scoff. It’s not like she found it for the credit. She’d done it to be useful and show them she was trying, but still. _Some_ credit would be nice. 

But Toni doesn’t look like she’s in the mood for banter. Drenched in water and shivering, she sits gingerly next to Fatin with her jaw, shoulders, and back all tense. Fatin guesses before she even checks that where Toni’s shooting daggers at Shelby.

Maybe Fatin can do _two_ useful things today.

“I’m a great listener, you know,” Fatin says, cleaning the grime out of her nails. “If you wanna talk about why Shelby’s existence personally offends you.”

“It _doesn’t._ ”

“Dude, I’m just saying.”

Toni blinks. In that second, her anger melts into vulnerability. Toni locks it back up in the next second, replaces it with feigned indifference, but Fatin already knows her secret: Toni cares. She’s got _feelings_.

Before Fatin can decide if she should press further or leave it, Toni asks, “What’s the deal? With you and Leah?”

Fair shot. Fatin should’ve seen that coming. “What’s the deal with you and Shelby and Martha?”

Toni snorts. She spreads her legs in front of her, poking them out into the sun. “The deal is Marty’s my girl and Shelby’s just - god, she’s _Shelby_.”

“Is she now?”

Toni throws a blade of grass at Fatin. It catches in the wind and drifts to the water. “Shut up. She’s infuriating.”

“She’s sunshine in a person. Same as your bestie.” Fatin hugs her knees to her chest. She soothes the cuts on her leg while carefully regarding Toni. She’s probably not the best person to give out advice here, especially about interpersonal conflict on this island. 

But it’s nice to know someone cares. Maybe Toni’s never needed that the way Fatin does, but Fatin wants to give it to her anyway. 

“Look, Toni, I don’t know what your deal with Shelby is but for what it’s worth, you’ve gotta chill the fuck out.”

“Fuck off, Fatin.”

Fatin rolls her eyes but otherwise pretends she hadn’t heard Toni. “I saw you two. You and Martha, on the plane. You were on death’s fucking door but you knew you had to go out with Martha. That it couldn’t be any other way. Guess what? Martha felt the exact same. So you’ve gotta ease up on the jealousy, girl. Try and be happy someone else adores your Marty. And remember it’s literally impossible for anyone to matter to her the way you do.” 

Toni narrows her eyes as if inspecting Fatin. Undeterred, Fatin doesn’t look away. 

Finally, Toni says, “Damn, you’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Fatin laughs despite herself. “Maybe you’ve gotta raise your expectations.”

“Maybe I do,” Toni says, a glint caught in her eyes. “Alright. Since your advice wasn’t completely shitty -”

Fatin pretends to wipe a tear away from her cheek. “That means _so_ much to me, thank you.”

“I’ll give you some not completely shitty advice too.” Toni straightens her spine. She inches closer until she’s right next to Fatin. Her hands folded in her lap, her head held high, and determination all over her face, Fatin belatedly realizes that Toni is serious. “Just go fucking tell her.”

It takes everything Fatin has not to automatically look to Leah down below. “What?”

“I don’t know why you two broke up -”

“Oh my god, _where_ did you get the idea that we dated from?”

Toni’s eyebrows draw together. “You _didn’t_?”

“No!”

“Are you sure?”

“Am I - _yes, I’m sure!_ We’re just - just -”

Toni smirks. It’s Fatin’s turn to throw grass at her and this time, it actually hits Toni’s shoulder. 

“Look,” Toni says, dusting the grass off of herself. “Whatever the details are, just get together already. I’m not even saying this because you guys are annoying about it, even though you are, but because - I mean, we were supposed to die. On that plane. Do something about it. Make it matter. Because we shouldn’t have survived but somehow, we did.”

The truth of it has stayed with Fatin all week but every reminder of it is still unnerving. What’s even more unnerving is that there isn’t even a reason why they made it and their pilot and flight attendants didn’t. There is no real reason that they got to live. 

(Well. No real reason that Fatin knows of yet.)

“We did,” Fatin echoes, startlingly aware of her heartbeat. She allows herself to glance at Leah and finds her and the rest of them playing Marco Polo. Shelby has her eyes shut and pads unknowingly towards Leah and Dot. She calls out Marco. Leah and Dot whisper-shout Polo before it’s complete chaos of shriek-laughter and Shelby flailing her arms towards them and their unsuccessful attempt at evading her touch.

They watch the next round of Marco Polo, Leah tagged in, in companionable silence until Toni says, “Oh. I have something for you.”

Fatin perks up. “A _gift_?”

“Sort of. Not really.” Toni reaches into her pockets and pulls out one of the pieces of Fatin’s pants she’d used to mark her trail. She can tell it’s the first one she left behind because it’s stained with her blood. “I’m the one who found it and told everyone else. Let’s just say you weren’t the only one who had a fight yesterday. Except it was more like _I_ blew up. Leah’ll probably tell you all about it.”

“I won’t ask,” Fatin says easily. She accepts the fabric and rakes her thumb over her dried blood. “This must’ve freaked you out, huh?”

“Yeah, dude. Would’ve fucking sucked if you got hurt or died. Glad you didn’t.” Toni smiles. She has the loveliest smile, Fatin thinks dazedly, the kind that softens all of her features and makes it impossible not to smile back.

“Thanks for making sure I didn’t.”

“Nah. I mean, I guess I got everyone to start looking but Leah’s the one who wouldn’t rest ‘till we found you. Obviously, we all wanted you back, but with how long it was taking and how exhausted we got, we would’ve called it a day and tried again tomorrow if not for her. No offence.”

“None taken,” Fatin says as she takes it all in. She’s not surprised by it but she is touched. She thinks about how Leah said she wouldn’t go after her but did anyway. How the girls spent hours looking for her. How Toni’s sitting with her under the shade, their legs lazily stretched out in the same direction. 

“This is nice, isn’t it?” 

Toni nods at Fatin. “Yeah. It is.”

They sit together, watching the girls below. They don’t speak again. Toni’s company is quiet and reassuring and good. It’s a gift that Fatin can only return.

.

.

.

As soon as they return to their base, Fatin skips over to where Nora’s doodling in front of the fire. 

“Girl, hey!” 

Nora lifts her head from her journal. “Hey, _hi,_ you’re here, but - but what happened?”

Rachel walks past Fatin. She shoves one of the soda cans they’d filled with water into Nora’s hands. “Fatin found a waterfall. We could still die but it won’t be of dehydration.”

Shelby strides in and sits on Nora’s other side. “Yay, right?”

“Oh.” Nora gives the can an experimental shake. “That’s great, but I meant - Fatin, your _leg_. Do you want something for it?”

Fatin glances down. The scrapes on her leg are bright red, but they aren’t bleeding any more. “Nah, I’m good.”

“Oh my god.” Leah squats next to Fatin and grips the back of Fatin’s knee. She inspects her cuts closely.

Fatin’s too shocked to worm her leg out of Leah’s grasp. “What are you doing?”

“Did I do this to you?”

“Yes,” Rachel says. “You did.”

“Leah,” Nora says, affronted. She turns to Rachel and flicks her shoulder. “I didn’t know the fight got _physical_ yesterday. You didn’t tell me that.”

“It didn’t,” Leah says in a small, offended voice. She runs her forefinger softly down Fatin’s cut. Fatin tries not to squirm but Leah notices anyway and brushes their fingers together in a wordless apology. 

Nora nods slowly. She drags her pen between Leah and Fatin. “So you didn’t injure Fatin?”

“She did.” Dot lays down on the sand, the water-filled cans lined neatly behind her head. “But it was from a hug.”

“Leah got real excited and tackled Fatin to the ground,” Shelby explains. “It was sweet.”

Nora still looks confused but she smiles at Leah. “So, everything’s good there?”

“Yes,” Leah says, still latched onto Fatin’s leg, her head resting against Fatin’s outer thigh. Fatin responds in lieu of stroking the back of Leah’s hair.

Nora nods then points her pen at Toni, Martha, and Shelby. “What about you guys?”

Shelby winces, glancing at Martha. “I’m good. I can’t speak to -”

“We’re good,” Martha says. 

Toni looks away from the fire to Martha, visibly stunned. That same flash of vulnerability Fatin had seen back at the waterfall returns but it doesn’t vanish after a second. It opens, expanding the longer Toni looks at Martha. “We are?”

“You’re sorry?”

“Yes - god, yes, about all of it, I _swear,_ I -”

“Okay.” Martha smiles and promptly curls over Toni’s lap. “I’m still mad at you but we’re good.”

Toni ducks down and kisses Martha’s forehead. “I’ll take it.”

Dot reaches behind her and grabs one of the cans. She raises it in the air. “I’m proud of all of you guys. Emotionally mature as fuck.”

With the leg not in Leah’s grasp, Fatin taps Dot’s shoulder. “But you’re like, mostly proud of me, right?”

“Definitely.” Dot laughs, her nose scrunched, and shakes her can. “We fucking have water!”

“We also have this.” Fatin clears her throat as she unclasps her father’s watch. Every part of her, not just her wrist, instantly feels lighter as she gives Dot the watch. “Worth more than seventy grand, baby. Take it.”

Leah peers over Dot’s face and eyes the watch. “Is that your dad’s?”

“Yup. Don’t want it. I don’t want any of my shit actually - at least, I don’t want it by myself, so. All my clothes and shoes and crap is officially ours.” Fatin is a _little_ offended they all look so shocked by her announcement. “I’m taking the silence as one of gratitude.”

“Fatin,” Shelby says with a hesitant laugh. “You serious?”

“Yeah. I mean -” Fatin swallows, fiddling with the sleeves of her jacket. “Gotta pull my weight, right? I took all your water last night.”

Leah clearly traces Fatin’s initials on Fatin’s knee, startling her into silence. “And you gave us an unlimited source of water. Don’t apologize.”

Fatin huffs and thumbs Leah’s initials against the top of her head. “I didn’t even say sorry.”

“Leah’s right,” Rachel says, sounding pained by the admission. “Your behaviour was shitty. You’ve fixed it. No apology needed.”

“God, I’m so glad you’re back,” Dot says. 

Shelby grins, extending her leg to foot Dot’s hip. “Dottie missed her favourite.”

“I like all of you equally,” Dot insists. “Fatin’s just -”

“Your favourite,” Fatin says, beaming. She sits down carefully, so Leah doesn’t let go of her leg, and smooths a flyaway hair away from Dot’s eyes. “I’m your _favourite_.”

“Look what you did, Shelby,” Toni says, edging towards playfulness. “You gave Fatin an ego.”

Rachel sputters out a laugh. “ _Gave_? No, she made it bigger.”

“Inflated it,” Nora suggests. 

Leah keeps her hand hooked around Fatin’s ankle as she lays her head over Fatin’s lap. This is new, Fatin thinks pleasantly, as Leah’s head slots perfectly between Fatin’s legs. 

“It’s called confidence,” Martha argues. “Don’t you think it’s better to be full of yourself than not? It’s self-love!”

Leah barely stifles her laugh. She flops onto her back, resting her heavy gaze up at Fatin. “They mean this in the best way. We missed you a lot.”

“Me too,” Fatin admits. She trails her finger down Leah’s cheek, wiping away a few grains of sand clinging to Leah’s skin. “One day felt a hell of a lot longer than two weeks, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Leah murmurs. Just from that, Fatin knows Leah understood Fatin’s reference to the two weeks before the retreat when they stopped talking. “It did.”

.

.

.

Soon after, Leah crawls off of Fatin’s lap and excuses herself. She only sits a few feet away, in the centre of Fatin’s suitcases and the rest of their belongings. 

Fatin lasts twenty minutes before she gets up and joins her. 

The first thing Fatin notices is Leah’s book. It sits next to Leah like it’s keeping her company, but Leah doesn’t look at it. She’s not even touching it.

“Just tell me to fuck off if you need some more Leah time,” Fatin says, plopping in front of Leah.

Leah bites her lip, stopping her half-smile from widening. “Leah time? I hate that. Sounds like I’m masturbating, which - wait. Don’t tell me that’s what you use for yourself. _Fatin time_?”

“You think about me masturbating a lot, huh?” Fatin laughs, buoyed by the flush that sweeps down Leah’s neck even as Leah flips her off. “Nah. I’m a big girl. I think of the actual word in my head. Okay, no, I don’t, I think about it like, just getting off, but it’s been ages, man. A full fucking week.”

A crease forms between Leah’s eyebrows. “Wait. You haven’t done it at all here?”

“What? _No._ Why are you so surprised? Holy shit, have _you_ -”

“Fatin! Shut up! They could hear you.”

“They could hear _you_ having an orgasm. Dude, what the hell?”

“What? You could masturbate too if you want to.”

Fatin’s always found it revolutionary, both the casualty of an open, non-judgmental conversation about sex and the power of one between women. 

Though, talking about self-brought orgasms with a girl she might actually love is _horrible_. Leah has only said masturbate twice and Fatin’s stupid brain can’t stop obsessing over it.

“I ... can’t.” Fatin raises her callused fingers. “It’s some weird cello PTSD. My vibrator is my best orgasm friend but like a dumbass, I didn’t bring it with me. So I’ve been orgasm-less.”

Leah chuckles, amusement twinkling in her eyes. “Poor baby.”

Fatin could keep this going. She has a million questions about how Leah’s been getting off, questions that _aren’t_ entirely pervy, just practical, and it’s always easy to talk like this with Leah, follow a thread and keep going until they’re doubled over in laughter.

But there’s a wound between them, weeks old now but unhealed from their refusal to just grit their teeth and stitch it up together. The longer they wait, the worse it’ll get.

So Fatin does it. She grits her teeth, braces herself for the impact, and blurts, “We need to talk.”

Leah’s throat bobs. “Uh, yeah. We do. Look, I’m sor -”

“No.”

“Did you just refuse my apology?”

“No. I mean, yeah, but it’s because we need to _talk talk_. Not just say sorry and move on. But I am sorry and I appreciate your apology and -”

“Fatin.”

“Right. It’s just, look,” Fatin says. She reaches into Leah’s lap, takes her hands, and intertwines their fingers. “If we don’t fix it at the root, it won’t be fixed at all, right? It’s not that I’m mad or anything but it’s like, if we act like none of this happened and don’t actually become better from it, it could ruin us again. Again I don’t want it to. You know?”

Leah still looks a little confused but she nods. Staring at their joined hands, she uses her middle finger to twist Fatin’s rings. “It’s getting late. How about we ‘offer’ to refill the cans with water tomorrow and we can _talk talk_ on the way there and back and at the waterfall?” 

“Really?”

“Really.”

Fatin’s grin takes up her entire face. “Dorothy’s right. We’re fucking killing this maturity thing.” She raises her hand and Leah comes through with a high-five. “C’mon. Let’s go back and hydrate our faces off. Or do you need more -”

“Never say Leah time again.” But Leah’s laughing and so is Fatin as they help each other up. 

“Just give me a sec,” Leah says. She’s not even doing anything but waiting for Fatin’s response, but Fatin feels a sudden pull of fondness so overwhelming that she forgets how to speak.

“Yeah, okay,” Fatin says belatedly. This is love, she thinks. Nothing else could make you this stupid. “See you in a sec.” She turns around, walks the few steps back to their circle, and plops next to Dorothy.

“This is years’ worth of rent,” Toni says, clutching Fatin’s watch. So they’re back to marvelling at the expensiveness of her dad’s stupid hobby. It’s not that Fatin doesn’t get it. It’s just that it’s weird, seeing the reveredness in the girls that she herself used to carry for her dad. He used to seem so worldly. Cultured with his expensive watches and suits and business trips - which in hindsight, weren’t all business trips. 

Now, she thinks about him, his money, his life and the complete waste he’s made of it, to only unconditionally and blindly love himself. Not the wife who cherishes him, not the children who adore him. 

“You sure you don’t want to at least wear this?” Martha asks. She now has the watch and still holds it like it’s a fragile thing she doesn’t deserve.

Fatin wants to tell Martha that she deserves only good things. Good boys and good watches and just complete _good_ in return for the good she emanates. 

But Fatin doesn’t want to look like the disastrously emotional sap she is, so she just says, “Nope. My shit is your shit.”

She’s not her father. Never has been, never will be - it’s both a fact and a promise. 

“Thank you, Fatin,” Martha says earnestly. She slides the watch over her wrist. At the crisp _click_ of it clasping in place, she grins.

Right then, Leah stands and joins them. Fatin immediately notices that she’s holding her novel. It’s barely held together, the cover falling apart, the pages thick and damp, but still, somehow, infuriatingly intact.

Leah passes her book to Rachel. “Fire’s low.”

She’s only speaking to Rachel but everyone falls quiet, understanding piercing the air.

Rachel raises her eyebrows. “You sure?”

Leah nods. She eyes the book as it passes from her hands to Rachel’s, still looking even as Rachel tears the cover off and gifts it to their fire. But it’s not with the same devastation Fatin remembers so clearly uncovering the night she’d spent at Leah’s house when she’d finally looked between the pages and saw the horrifying truth.

No, it’s not devastation. It’s as gentle as the wind that breezes past her hair, as powerful as their fire will become thanks to their new source of kindling. 

It’s peace.

Everyone must sense it. They’re all looking at Leah the same way Fatin is. 

No, not like they’ve been steadily falling in love with Leah for months. Like they’re proud.

Leah scoffs. “Guys. It’s just a book.”

“We didn’t say anything,” Shelby says right as Fatin goes, “You know it’s not, but come here anyway so I can hug _you_ so hard you’ll bleed.”

“Yeah, you guys are definitely hugging wrong,” Toni says.

Leah rolls her eyes and bends down to meet Fatin for a clinging hug that says more than either of them can.

.

.

.

The thing is, on an island where there is nothing to do but talk, it is shockingly very difficult to do just that.

The timing just doesn’t work. The few quiet days that follow the waterfall is a lull where the girls finally have fun in the near freedom in their isolation. It’s an ephemeral, breathless kind of joy that as soon as they feel it, they know will pass quickly. Fatin and Leah agree, okay, hold out the conversation for a few days. Wait till they start to get annoyed by everyone and the space will help.

Then the island tests them. Because the only other thing there is to do here is survive.

They all get violently ill from shellfish and nearly die. 

They have to relocate again. 

They believe for one glorious, magical day that rescue is imminent and so they get trashed and high and eat all they have left, subsequently shooting themselves in the foot. 

They learn that the death of hope tastes the same as starvation; the two pains meld into one. At least they don’t have the energy to feel like idiots because all they can think about is how they’ll die if they don’t have anything to eat.

And Leah. Leah isn’t well. 

Fatin hates calling Leah paranoid because she isn’t. Sure, Fatin hadn’t thought much of it until Leah suspected Shelby of being in on it. Even though those suspicions have passed, Shelby’s forgiven Leah, and Leah’s softened on Shelby, it made Fatin think.

Yeah. This is all fucking weird.

There’s so much _more_ beyond just what Leah had said about how weird it is that they don’t remember the actual crash, how they have just enough to keep them alive and partly sane, the particular timing of Fatin, Martha, and Jeanette’s luggage, _and_ that second lighter.

How come all nine of them found each other and grouped but not their pilot or a single flight attendant? Why do they all know CPR? Why - but mostly how - the fuck did Jeanette have so much odd shit with her that couldn’t have possibly made it through customs?

Also, where the _fuck_ did Jeanette’s body go?

But then, in quick succession, they thought they’d get rescued, they instead had no food, and Leah got worse. Suddenly, all of Fatin’s thoughts compressed to three things.

  1. No one was coming for them.
  2. It wouldn’t matter that they survived the crash when - _if_ they died of hunger.
  3. Leah. 



Until Leah tried to run into the ocean and all of Fatin’s thoughts zeroed in on that third point.

_._

_._

_._

Fatin isn’t sure if she starts crying or only now notices it after Leah dozes off in her arms.

Either way, there is water in her eyes, on her cheeks, clinging to Leah’s hair and clothes. Leah is wet, cold, and pale, but she is breathing. Leah ran into the water but Rachel saved her. Leah is exhausted and afraid and knows that they are part of something bigger, grander, crueller than any of them can understand - but she let Fatin hold her, she let Fatin give her that pill, and she let herself live.

This is the second time Fatin has been aware of but not understood the depths of Leah’s pain. First with the book, now with the island. 

The inevitable self-deprecation follows. Fatin spends too much time looking at Leah to not have noticed this. Fatin could have said something better, kinder, more effective to help Leah. Fatin could have, should have, somehow done more.

But then Leah’s chest rises with a particularly heavy breath. Fatin stops hating herself. The whispers of _not good enough_ and self-blame and regret die. In their absence lives the thought that just gets bigger and bigger the longer Fatin soothes herself with Leah’s breathing. 

_This will be the worst part. Nothing can be as bad as this, so it will only get better._

“You get me?” Fatin rakes her fingers through Leah’s damp hair before bends down and kisses Leah’s forehead. Against Leah’s skin, she whispers, “It has to get better.”

“How’s she doing?”

Even though Dot’s voice shakes as she ambles towards them, Fatin still relaxes. “She’s knocked the fuck out. She’s not freaking out anymore but she’s still -”

“Yeah,” Dot says quietly. She settles next to Fatin, close enough that their legs press together. Fatin sees something inside Dot crack open and apart. “Oh my fucking god, Fatin.”

“I know,” Fatin says, unable to raise her voice above a murmur. There is still a seed of hope planted in her soul, but she still mostly feels closer to death now than she did during the crash. 

Her mind strays to her grandmother. She used to take Fatin on walks the first year of Fairhan and Farzan’s lives, respectively, to give her an escape from their endless crying. She used to give them piggyback rides, let them win races in her living room. She even taught Fatin how to swim from blowing bubbles in the water to jumping in the deep end to treading.

But when she got sick, all of that left her, day by day, breath by breath. It was a slow march. Every step forward seemed more painful than the last. In her last week, she’d told a pre-teen Fatin not to feel sad for her. That in death, she would still watch over Fatin’s mother, Fatin, her brothers, and all her cousins but without any of the pain of her illness. That she was excited to see what Fatin would make of herself because Fatin had done tremendously with her dozen years already.

That muggy, late spring afternoon in the hospital returns to Fatin in stark detail. This had to be the core of what her grandmother had felt as she died the slow death she didn’t deserve. 

But this also had to be the core of what she’d meant too. That there was so much more left for Fatin. 

This is not where it ends. It can’t be. She’s not finished yet. None of them are.

Fatin looks at Dot. Her eyes already blur at the heartbreak all over Dot’s face as Dot watches Leah. “I know this fucking sucks, okay,” Fatin says, “and I blame Martha and Shelby for this lapse of optimism but you - you have to believe me. ‘Cuz if you believe me, then I’ll believe me, and it’ll feel true that we’re gonna get back from this. Leah’s tough, she -”

“She could’ve died,” Dot interrupts. “How do we come back from that? Fatin, I don’t -” Her voice breaks with a sob. Seeing Dot cry is the same gut-wrenching shock of seeing her mother cry. It’s unnatural. Unfair. Dot deserves the good kind of tears from laughter and pure happiness, not the fucking nightmare they can’t wake up from. 

Fatin doesn’t know what’s going on inside her. There is hope, and there is hurt, but it cuts the same. She can’t stop crying now. Fatin and Dot lean in at the same time, pressing their foreheads together, their shoulders trembling in tandem as they cry.

Soon, Nora and Rachel, the latter changed in Fatin’s dry clothes, check on them. 

Nora lets out a strangled gasp. She tentatively burrows on Fatin’s other side and strokes Leah’s hair. 

Rachel shakes her head. “No. No, guys, you can’t - she’s okay. She _is,_ she’s fine, we’re all -”

“Rachel,” Nora cuts in. “It’s okay.”

Rachel’s hand flies to her face. Rachel’s descension into shaky breaths as she stumbles to her knees in front of them unsettles Fatin more than seeing Dot cry. 

“You did good,” Dot says, her voice thick but immensely calmer. “You saved her.”

“Of course, I did.” Rachel hugs her knees to her chest. She stares at her toes twitching in the sand. “I would’ve done it for any of you.”

“We know,” Fatin says. Rachel isn’t the only one surprised - Fatin hadn’t known her voice was capable of sounding that soft. “Trust us, we know.”

“It’s the starvation, that’s it,” Nora reasons as she reaches out to Rachel and links their arms. “Otherwise Leah wouldn’t have done it.”

Fatin knows there’s some truth to it. It’s just not the entire story, though. She’ll bring it up later though. When their stomachs don’t feel like they’re caving in on themselves. That Leah has a point, that so many things about their situation fall into place too easily, that this might not have been an accident. It’s a conversation they need to have.

But not like this, only the five of them, one of them knocked out, while their other three search for food in the woods.

“I’m adding a new rule,” Dot announces. “Like how no one’s allowed to die again, no one’s allowed to run into the ocean like that again. Deal?”

“Deal,” Nora says.

Rachel snorts a dry laugh. “Don’t gotta tell me twice.”

Fatin rests her head against Dot’s shoulder with a content sigh. “I’ll do you one better. I’ll pinky promise you.”

“Good,” Dot says to all of them before promptly curling her pinky around Fatin’s.

Later, the silence will crumble. They’ll fall into easy conversation that mostly manages to not be about hunger and death. 

But for now, they sit together, everyone touching somehow when Rachel scoots closer and inadvertently tucks her feet underneath Fatin’s legs. They switch between watching the water rise and crash, and watching Leah inhale and exhale. 

Just sitting with them, huddled close that Fatin would be shivering if not for each of their body heat, makes the unbearable bearable.

.

.

Leah’s out of it for the rest of the day.

Martha, Shelby, and Toni don’t return on their quest to find something, anything, to eat.

Fatin sleeps the same way she’d spent most of her day: curled between Dot, Nora, and Rachel with Leah sprawled over her lap.

Nothing is better.

But she eventually falls asleep to four sets of heavy breathing and the tides. In her dreams, she’s back in her grandmother’s pool. She’s learning to swim with her grandmother’s steady hands guiding her and her cackling laughter comforting her.

It would be a memory if not for all eight girls, Jeanette included, on the far end of the pool, playing volleyball. They’re all bright and full of energy. Their skin is clear and clean, hair neat and wet. Leah spikes the ball. They all break into laughter and cheers. Leah catches Fatin’s eyes, attempts a wink, and doesn’t succeed.

Fatin wakes up again because her stomach growls and sends reality crashing back down on her.

But when she drifts back to sleep, twenty long minutes later, she dreams of the same thing: except her brothers are there, her first on Dot’s shoulders, her second on Leah’s, and Audrey splashes water at Shelby, and her grandmother gently nudges Fatin forward, towards her people.

.

.

.

And it happens: they get back from this.

Miraculously, Fatin helps Rachel lug the goat back to their campgrounds without complaining, chipping a single nail, or throwing up.

“Fatin,” Leah says, now fully-awake, sitting next to Nora in front of the fire. It’s a miracle that at the sight of Leah’s tentative smile and semi-wave, Fatin doesn’t drop the goat on Rachel’s foot. “Holy shit, are you actually carrying that?”

“Nah, I’m pretending to,” Fatin grunts.

Rachel’s eyes blow wide. She stops so abruptly that again, Fatin nearly loses her grip on the goat. “What?”

“I’m joking! Just - oh my god, can we keep moving?”

Fatin can’t look at the goat any longer the second they set it down. Dot says she’ll take it from here. Rachel offers to help Dot.

Martha still looks haunted, the vacantness in her eyes unrelenting. Fatin thanks her again for the goat and asks Martha if she’d like to join Fatin in going for a rinse. Martha kindly declines. Fatin figures that Toni will be a better help than her anyway when she gets back, so that leaves -

“Hey.” Fatin taps Leah’s shoulder, despite standing directly in front of her. “I’m gonna wash the goat off of me. Wanna come with?”

Leah doesn’t say anything. She wordlessly stands up and follows Fatin to the water.

It remains a quiet endeavour. Dipping their toes first, then their hands. Fatin carefully rinses her legs without dampening her shirt. She splashes her face last but does it three times for good measure.

And to brace herself as she looks Leah in the eye and says, “About yesterday.”

“You don’t have to worry,” Leah says. “I promise I -”

Fatin’s chest feels like it’s going to explode if she doesn’t do this so she does. She lifts herself onto her tiptoes, flings her arms around Leah’s neck, and pulls her close. She has to tell herself to be gentle. It isn’t a difficult reminder with the shaky exhale Leah buries in Fatin’s hair.

“I’m going to fucking worry about you,” Fatin murmurs by Leah’s ear. “So no point in arguing about that. We’ll figure this out, okay? The shit that’s going on, we will, all eight of us, but first, you need to -”

“I know.” Leah leans her cheek against Fatin’s head. Tightens her arms around Fatin’s waist. A small wave passes and tickles their feet. “I will.”

“I’m serious,” Fatin says, pushing because she should’ve pushed before - when she’d first looked through Leah’s book, when Leah wanted to call Jeffrey. She won’t make the same mistakes again.

Leah pulls back. She uncurls Fatin’s clenched hand and tucks it between both of her hands. “I know. And I will. We’re, like, gonna break the internet when we get back, right? I can’t miss that. Besides, you owe me.”

Fatin barks out a shocked laugh. Her body is freezing from the salt water and the wind, while her stomach still sears with hunger, but a flicker of contentment burns bright inside. “Owe you what?”

“A performance. I’ve never seen you play live and I can’t -” Leah’s breath hitches but her smile doesn’t break. “I can’t die without seeing future-but-already-cello-star Fatin Jadmani play live.”

Another laugh escapes Fatin. She swings their joined hands together. It doesn’t sting when she presses her calluses into Leah’s knuckle. It just soothes. “Only if I get the first signed copy of your future memoir about this shitty island slash angsty Virginia Woolf-esque - but totally better than Ms. Woolf - poetry book.”

“Is my recovery not enough?” Leah’s teasing, the glint of amusement that Fatin adores returning to eyes.

Fatin still needs to say this, though, and needs Leah to hear it. “Are you kidding? It’s everything. But I just - I want you to know you deserve more when you’re ready.”

Leah looks at Fatin like - hm. Fatin doesn’t know. She’s never been looked at like this before. “Fatin?”

“Mhm?” 

Leah pulls Fatin for another hug. Her arms loop around Fatin’s neck, her chin tucked over Fatin’s shoulder. “This stupid world doesn’t deserve you.” 

Fatin’s pretty sure Leah hugged her to avoid saying those words _and_ making eye contact with Fatin. That makes her hug Leah back tighter.

It’s everything - their first proper meal in days being cooked several feet behind them, the distant ring of Toni and Shelby’s voices that Fatin recognizes instantly, and this, the light returning to Leah, how she’s holding Fatin the same way Fatin held her yesterday. 

She fucking hates this place. But the people here, the girls here -

“Fatin? Are you crying?”

“From starvation.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“ _You’re_ not a thing.”

“Getting philosophical now? Sorraine would be proud.” Leah’s grin is loud in her voice. They’re giving the other girls one hell of a view from how they’re holding each other knee-deep in the water, whispering and laughing. 

All Fatin can think is _good._

Fatin pulls back to see Leah’s grin and involuntarily mirrors it back at her. “Just saying, I got a ninety on that exam. That could’ve been you if you’d shown up.”

“I would’ve tanked that exam even if I hadn’t broken my leg and had to take it home, so. Honestly, a sixty feels worse than the zero I would’ve -”

“ _When_ did you break your leg?” Fatin gawks. She gives an experimental poke of her foot to Leah’s legs. “They’re not broken right now!”

“Okay, I fractured it. But it healed pretty decently.”

“How? How did you break your motherfucking leg?”

“Car accident. And again, I fractured it. Not broke.”

“Oh my god, I told you your depressing ass music would result in an accident one day, that you’d be sobbing to Linkin Park and boom -”

Leah kicks a stream of water at Fatin. “I wasn’t even driving! You _know_ I’m a good driver, you have months of proof.”

Fatin reaches down and, with both hands, splashes Leah’s midsection. “We’ve been on this shithole for _twenty-three_ days and you didn’t tell me that you got hit by a car?” 

“It’s a long story.”

Fatin rolls her eyes and splashes Leah again, relishing in Leah’s shriek of laughter. “ _It’s a long story._ My dear bitch, we have nothing but time!”

“Hey!” Rachel shouts, catching their attention. From the shore, she squints at them through the sunlight. “My ... dear bitches?”

“Oh, what did I do,” Fatin murmurs. Leah hides her laugh in Fatin’s shoulder.

“Come eat,” Rachel finishes.

“But the goat’s not finished,” Leah yells back.

Toni raises her arm not secured around Martha’s shoulder and waves something Fatin can’t make out at them. “Shelby and I found fruit!” She grins, glancing at Shelby.

But Shelby looks away instantly. With a faint blush, she assists Dot with the goat and does something unspeakable to their soon-to-be-lunch.

Before Fatin can think about what _that_ is, Dot yells at them to hurry up and try the lychee. Leah tugs Fatin forward, out of the water towards their girls.

.

.

.

“Like this?”

“Exactly,” Dot says, clapping Fatin on the back. “And you said letting you near fire was a bad idea.”

“It is but now I won’t be culpable if I fuck it up. ‘Cuz it’ll be on you for teaching me.” Fatin stares, pleased at the page of Jeffrey Galanis’s book turning to ashes in front of her. 

They still have the lighter, but Fatin is _tentatively_ trying to learn a few, minor island skills. Shelby had eagerly offered to teach Fatin how to cook a bird or a fish. That seemed like way too much responsibility. 

This, though, keeping a fire alive under the patient teaching of Dot, is good. Baby steps. Maybe by the time they get out of here, she’ll actually know how to cook an animal in the wild. 

Considering that they’re nearing the four-week mark, it’s seeming likelier and likelier that she’ll have to learn at some point. Rescue is not a word Faitin lets herself think about now but it still lingers unwelcome in the back of her mind.

“Who got you into this shit?” Fatin asks. It’s part curiosity, part to force her thoughts elsewhere. 

It’s just her and Dot here. Rachel, Nora, and Leah are trying to catch fish. Shelby and Toni are most certainly fucking somewhere but they told everyone they’re going to find more lychee. Martha naps a few feet away from them.

Dot flicks the lighter on and off a few times before responding. “My dad. This was his shit and so it became mine.”

Fatin catches it: the past tense and the heartache in Dot’s voice. She scoots a little closer to Dot until their shoulders touch. “Not to be completely basic, but he would -”

“Totally be proud of me?” Dot’s voice is flat but she smiles just barely at Fatin. “Think he’d be real fucking crushed too.”

Fatin doesn’t know what to say to that. She hangs her arm around Dot’s shoulder, sighing contently as Dot rests her head against Fatin’s.

“Thanks for keeping us alive,” Fatin says. “And for keeping yourself alive too.”

“You kinda remind me of him, you know?”

“I remind you of your _father_?”

“Yeah. He’d say sappy shit like that all the time. Or maybe that’s just a dad thing.”

“It’s not,” Fatin says quickly. “But that’s a hell of an honour, Dorothy. Thank you.”

“Nah. Thank you.”

Before Fatin can respond, Shelby and Toni walk into view. The strap of Shelby’s top is askew. Toni keeps smoothing back her hair. They’re both more flushed than the island sun permits.

They could not be any more obvious.

“Is Leah swimmin’ with Rachel and Nora?” Shelby asks, staring off into the ocean.

“Hi to you too,” Dot says sunnily. “And yes. They’re looking for fish.”

Toni frowns as she sits next to Dot. “Is that a great idea? I mean, the last time Leah was in the water ...”

“They’ve got her,” Fatin says knowingly. “Trust me, Leah’s good, it’s not -” Not like last time. Fatin pushed, and she’s paying attention, and she’s here with and for Leah. It’s better. _Leah’s_ better. “I’m not saying we should disband the Leah Babysitting Club but she needs this. Knowing we still trust her to help us out instead of thinking she’s fragile and useless.”

“I don’t think that,” Toni says weakly.

Shelby jumps in before Fatin can as she sits next to her. “Fatin knew that. She just meant Leah doesn’t need anything to make her _feel_ like we think that. Right, Fatin?”

“Riiiiiiight.” Fatin lets herself look pointedly back and forth between Shelby and Toni once before she dives back to her priority. “Point is, Leah’s good like this.”

Dot nods. “You think she hasn’t noticed we’re all taking shifts with her?”

She has. Leah must appreciate it enough since she hasn’t complained to Fatin. Fatin can tell, though, that having a buddy to go on walks with her, take their daily wash in the water, and even the bathroom is slowly grating on her. 

Fatin sympathizes. Ultimately, though, Leah needs this, the care at the core of the community they’ve built together. So no, she’s _not_ getting to take a shit alone. At least for another week.

But she can have this to make up for it.

“I have an idea,” Fatin says. Her nervousness must show because Dot, Shelby, and Toni all look confused. “It might help Leah for a bit of a change in scenery and routine. I was thinking, maybe - maybe an afternoon trip to the waterfall.”

Shelby idly adjusts the strap of her shirt, her lower lip caught between her teeth. “So we make a day of it, have fun in the water like when we first found it?”

“Kind of! Except I was thinking more ...”

“Oh.” Toni leans back and crosses her legs with a smirk. “You want to go alone.”

Fatin is _not_ taking shit from the girl who just had sex in the woods and then put clothes that belong to Fatin on afterwards. “Yup. I do.”

“I knew it!” Shelby says. If Fatin is about to be called out on her feelings for Leah by Shelby, she _literally_ swears to God - “You and Leah knew each other well before this.”

“Oh,” Fatin says, relieved but also strangely disappointed? She figured Shelby would have known that already. 

But Shelby’s gaze lingers, holding Fatin’s purposefully. 

That’s probably nothing. Shelby’s just a heavy eye-contact person.

“Time with you is exactly what Leah needs,” Shelby continues. “And you two would have fun together.”

“Fun,” Toni repeats, amused.

 _God, I wish,_ Fatin thinks, while also internally flushing because being ganged up on by the two people who met and are already _together_ all in the span of their time here is embarrassing. (But also, Fatin’s, like, super happy for them and that Shelby took Fatin’s advice and went for it. Good for them.)

Wonderful, lovely Dot saves Fatin from this torment. “Sounds good to me. When’re you thinking?”

“Tomorrow? Is that cool with you guys?”

“‘Course,” Toni says all too knowingly, her smug grin never faltering. 

Shelby throws Toni a pointed look. “Be nice.”

“I am being nice. I’m being _so_ nice.”

“I’m missing something,” Dot says.

“No, you are not,” Fatin says quickly. She reaches past Dot to shove Toni. “Did you guys actually find us any food?”

“Of course we did.” Toni nods her chin at Shelby who takes the cue to empty her bag. “We’re pretty sure they’re berries?”

“Pretty sure?” Dot repeats. Her lower lip curls as she pokes the bluest berry that rolled toward her ankle.

“We’ll have Nora double-check,” Shelby says, “but they don’t look poisonous to me. Then again the shellfish I couldn’t tell the shellfish would make y’all sick, so ...”

Dot rolls the berry between her fingers. “Still a good find. God, we are killing this. Did you know Fatin learned how to keep the fire going today?”

Fatin’s achievements used to consist of performing to sold-out theatres and having her acceptance to Juilliard practically guaranteed before her senior year had even begun.

Watching over a fire seemed pathetic in comparison.

But Toni cheers and Shelby claps Fatin on the shoulder. They all look ridiculously proud so Fatin lets herself feel it too.

“Well, I had an excellent teacher,” Fatin says, bopping Dot’s shoulder with her head.

Shelby’s eyes light up. “So maybe you’ll let me teach you how to prepare a goat.”

“... Maybe!”

A few minutes later, Dot and Toni head out to the water. Dot to check up on Rachel, Nora, and Leah, and Toni to rinse herself.

Fatin waits until they’re both out of eyeshot to ridiculously waggle her eyebrows at Shelby. “The post-orgasm glow looks great on you.”

Shelby smiles at the fire. Pink blooms in her cheeks and down her neck. “Have I ever told you how much I love your straightforwardness? You get right to the point.”

“Ooh, and that post-orgasm high where you can’t stop smiling, and you say ridiculously sweet things. Two things you already do so now it’s, like, doubled for you. I’m happy for you,” Fatin clarifies. She doesn’t want it to come across like she’s making fun of Shelby, even though she totally is, and like she’s holding it over Shelby’s head, that she’s the only other one who knows about their relationship. 

From how warmly Shelby says, “Oh, Fatin”, it looks like Fatin has nothing to worry about. 

Shelby inches over until she’s directly next to Fatin. “Thank you. Without the advice you gave me, I don’t think I would’ve -”

“You’re giving me too much credit, girl. I just told you to ask Toni how she’s feeling. Anyone could’ve told you that.”

“Yeah, but not _anyone_ did. You did.”

“And now you get to have wonderful forest sex,” Fatin teases, ignoring the warmth pooling inside her at Shelby’s sincerity. It’s been twenty-seven days of Shelby Goodkind’s nonstop, aggressive kindness. Fatin doesn’t think it’ll never _not_ surprise her how someone like Shelby could be this earnest all the time. 

Shelby laughs. She bumps her shoulder against Fatin’s. “Relax. Tomorrow you can have wonderful waterfall sex.”

Fatin groans into her hands. “Can everyone tell?”

“Hey, you were able to tell that me and Toni are, well, you know. It’s not on me that you look at her like she’s the sun and she looks at you the same.”

Fatin peeks at Shelby through the gap between her fingers. “She looks at me the same, huh?”

“Is _the_ Fatin seriously askin’ me that right now? You’re joking. Oh my goodness, you aren’t.” Shelby’s sunniness slips for a second before it returns, even brighter. She tugs Fatin up by the wrists, speaking over Fatin’s grumbles. “Perfect. I can return the favour!”

“Great, but why do I have to be _standing_ for that?”

Shelby ignores her. “You be honest with her and that’ll give her the strength to be honest with you, too, and boom! Happy ending.”

“... With all of us still fucking trapped here?”

“Happy middle for our better-be-rapidly approaching end when we get off this place,” Shelby happily corrects.

Fatin can’t help her growing smile. “Sounds good to me. But I don’t think that’ll be the end. After all this shit?” She gestures to the fire, to Martha sleeping in their fort of clothing and suitcases, to the rest of their girls still in the water, and vaguely to Jeanette’s empty grave. “There’ll be interviews. Questions. So many talk shows begging for our time. Our parents’ll probably wanna sue the airline. There’ll be a fuck-ton therapy. And, of course, we’ll have to go home.”

“Home,” Shelby repeats. She laughs, a jagged and discomfiting sound. “Right.”

Fatin is both upset that someone else feels it, the dark staining the light of what’s supposed to be unconditional euphoria at the idea of returning home, and a little relieved too. 

“I know the idea of not being stuck with all of us twenty-four seven is depressing as hell but I don’t think you can ever get rid of us if that’s what you’re scared of.” Fatin knows it’s not but it’s probably the most honest thing she can say to relieve Shelby of her sudden discomfort. “We’re, like, scars. Won’t ever really go away.”

Shelby loops their arms together. It should be irritable against Fatin’s sunburnt and sand-covered skin but it’s Shelby, so it isn’t. “Call me crazy but that actually sounds good to me. Better than the alternative.”

“Yeah,” Fatin replies, heart suddenly full as she decisively clasps Shelby’s hand. “So much fucking better.”

.

.

.

“Are you going to kill me?”

“Mm, not today. But I will if you ask me that again.”

Leah makes a noise at the back of the throat. It sounds protesting, but her step never falters as she follows Fatin. “Can’t believe I’m saying this but I don’t want to die.”

“Oh my god, that’s so depressing,” Fatin says. She narrowly ducks and avoids hitting a low hanging branch. “But yeah, me too. We’re not fucking dying here.” She doesn’t have to see Leah’s face to know she’s thinking the same thing as Fatin: Jeanette’s bubbly smile, her bangs nearly reaching her eyes, her cold body in Leah’s arms. 

After a few moments of silence, save for twigs snapping underneath their feet and the rustling of leaves above them, Fatin clears her throat. “You’re thinking of her too, right?”

“It’s just fucked up. All of this is fucked up. She was here and then she wasn’t, and then that happened again, with her body going missing, and - she couldn’t have disappeared.”

Fatin swallows past the acrid taste in her mouth. She stops suddenly. They’re close enough to the waterfall now that a quick stop won’t make a difference. She turns around and instinctively touches Leah’s wrist. “I know.”

Leah bites her lip hard. Her other hand raises, touches her eyebrow, then stops. She hesitates but ultimately takes Fatin’s other hand until there’s no space between their fingers. “Do you really believe me? Or you’re just saying this to make me feel better? Look, I won’t be offended if it’s the second one. If I’m going insane, Fatin, you’re the one who needs to tell me, okay, please -”

“Hey,” Fatin interrupts, gently tugging Leah’s hands. “It’s both, okay? I believe you and I want you to feel better. You’re not going insane. You’ve been stuck here and you haven’t been able to properly shit in over a month. Look, everyone else just - they just need time. I swear. They’re all in survival mode while you’re looking at the big picture. That’s it. We’ll figure all of this out but you just gotta be a little patient with them. No one thinks you’re crazy. _I_ know you aren’t. Alright?”

“But,” Leah says, defensive but already smiling, softening under Fatin’s touch. “If I was going insane. You’d tell me?”

“Of fucking course. I wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“You don’t shut up about anything.”

“Ex-fucking-scuse me.”

“It’s, like, one of my favourite things about you,” Leah admits. “I used to think I just really loved silence but, nah. I can’t stand it.”

Fatin’s heart pulls. The only reason she doesn’t kiss Leah now is she has a plan, goddammit, and she’s sticking to it. 

So she just smiles, squeezes Leah’s hand, starts their walk again, and breaks the silence by saying, “Good ‘cuz now you’re not allowed to tell me to shut up again.”

.

.

.

Leah looks at the waterfall for a millisecond before deciding, “I don’t get it.”

“This is the surprise.” Fatin turns her back towards the water, spreads her arms around, and grins. “Ta-da! A day off. But like a day off with me. Now you can see what’s in the bag.”

Leah preens at that. Fatin finally hands Leah the bag she’d packed and brought along for the day.

Leah’s eyes get progressively wider and wider as she rummages through. “Nail polish ... a blanket ... spare clothes ... lychee ... oh my god, is this a picnic?”

“Sure. I just want you to have a nice, semi-normal day. No surviving. Just living.”

Leah looks up from the bag. Her eyes shine. “Really?”

“I can’t believe I said _no surviving, just living_ either, but yeah.” Suddenly flushed, Fatin removes her green jacket and tosses it to the ground. “Thoughts?”

“I missed this.”

“Really? We can come back more if you want.”

“I meant ...” Leah’s shoulders slump as she gestures to herself and Fatin. “This. Just getting to be with you, you know?”

Fatin doesn’t think she’ll ever stop smiling. “Yeah. I know.”

.

.

.

It’s easy to slip back into it, a world where it’s just Fatin and Leah, the way it felt before all of this.

It feels the same. They trade sips of the same can of beer. Leah lets Fatin paint her nails. They toss lychee into the other’s mouth. They talk about nothing and everything with their feet dipped in the water. 

But it’s not the same. Their world is bigger, having expanded to fit six other people in it. Leah is more herself: smiling, laughing, talking more, her heartbreak a healed wound. Fatin’s mind, for the first time in years, is clear. The space where the obligation of cello and the recent ache of her dad’s betrayal, her mother’s passivity, and her twisty regret is gone. They’re better individually, so they’re better together. 

When they’ve finished their fruit, Fatin sits up from where they lay in the sun over the same blanket. “Hey. So we should, um, probably -”

“Finally have that talk we’ve been procrastinating?” Leah raises an eyebrow as she props herself up with her elbows. 

“Look at you, you freaky mind-reader. What am I thinking next?”

“That can we maybe do something, like, normal to counteract the heaviness of this, like do it in the water? Hm. Or maybe I’m just reading my own mind.”

Fatin’s nervousness melts as she offers Leah a hand to pull her up. “Nah, bitch. You definitely read mine too. Let’s go.”

.

.

.

As she steps out of her track pants and Leah does the same opposite to her, Fatin wonders if this is actually a terrible idea. She’s not going to be naked, she’s not even removing her crop-top, but there’ll still be _her_ skin and _Leah’s._

And then Leah pushes her into the water, falling alongside her. They’re a tangled mess when they fall, they stay a tangled mess when they rise to the surface. They’re giggling as Fatin swears and splashes Leah. They’re close, and not completely clothed, and it’s not a terrible idea at all.

“I’m sorry,” Leah says right before Fatin splashes her shoulder.

“It’s fine, I’ll push you in next time.” Fatin drops her hands back into the water. Thankfully, she understands what Leah means before she flicks water at her again. “Oh. I’m sorry for it too. All of it. I -”

Leah treads towards Fatin until they’re nearly shoulder to shoulder. “I wanna go first, actually.” 

Fatin has had a speech planned and rewritten for days. She wants to argue but the water reflecting in Leah’s eyes makes them bluer, and that compels Fatin to nod.

“That day in Philosophy, when Brent kept fucking calling you,” Leah starts, slow but sure. “And I told him to shut the fuck up, it wasn’t - okay, yeah, I couldn’t read over his loud misogyny but I also couldn’t stop listening to you. You just kept talking to Audrey. You weren’t going to give him any satisfaction and that was just, god, so fucking _cool_.”

Fatin can’t help but laugh. 

Leah pauses, her shoulders shaking with a laugh of her own as her posture relaxes. “And it’s like, what’s this asshole doing bothering you? But also how are _you_ not bothered? It’s not like I’d never noticed you before. But that just flicked some switch on. And so I told him to shut the fuck up.”

“And you did,” Fatin recalls. She remembers how shocked she was, the random artsy girl with her head in a book not just snapping but snapping on Fatin’s behalf. Mostly, though, Fatin was in awe then and she hasn’t stopped feeling awe since. “My knight in shining plaid.”

Leah snorts. “I couldn’t believe I’d done it but I didn’t think you’d talk to me in the hallway. You actually said my _name,_ and I tried ignoring you -”

“I fucking knew it!”

“But you’re impossible to ignore. You’d always been there, in the peripheral, but then you were there, right next to me, walking me to class, thanking me, _talking to me_. I didn’t get it then, and I still don’t get it now, but - but that entire year, I’d been in this fog where nothing could get through me if it wasn’t _him_ and his stupid fucking smile and his book. Until you. You got through.”

Fatin’s breath catches. Goosebumps rise over her arms. Her hand reaches blindly for Leah’s in the water. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m not - it wasn’t about him. I fucking _mean_ that. I didn’t become friends with you to fill that void, but like - that void filled anyway. And the thing with Jeffrey is that -”

Fatin feels Leah’s hand tighten around hers. “Hey, you don’t have to talk about him if you don’t want to. It’s fine.”

“I know. But I want to, just this once. Obviously, that fog didn’t lift. Even now, I still - it’s still hard to think about what happened, and I don’t think I’m over it, but it’s starting to _feel_ different, you know? I don’t know, it’s just all so fucked up and messy, but what I’m trying to say is, I don’t think about it and want it back. I think about it and really think, what the fuck happened? I think about the months I wasted, too many hours in bed and meals skipped and bitchy comments to my mom because she was worried. I think about how I have passages of his book burned to memory in my head. I think about how I ruined my friendship with Ian and then with you. I think - I _know_ that love doesn’t ruin a life. It’s not misery.”

Fatin uses the hand not holding Leah’s to cup Leah’s jaw. Her thumb wipes away the tears as they fall. She gives Leah the pause she needs and a soft, encouraging smile.

“What I’m trying to say is, I - I heard you that morning after the party, at my house. I thought it was a dream when I woke up, but I’ve gone back to that a lot these past few months, and I just know it was actually you. Telling me that it wouldn’t feel like this forever. That I’ll be fine and I’ll move on even if it doesn’t feel like it.”

Fatin bites the inside of her cheek. “I thought you were asleep.”

Leah smiles, partly playful, entirely fond. “I figured. But I’m glad I heard it. I’m glad you said it. You were right. I know you’ve always been on my side and that you just wanted what was best for me because that’s who you are. You care. About me, about everyone, about your mom. I can’t stop thinking about what I fucking said, and I just - I need you to know that I was wrong about so much but mostly that, okay? You didn’t break her heart with those pictures. You love her and she knows that.”

“Your apology shouldn’t be making me cry, fuck.” Fatin goes to wipe her eyes but Leah beats her to it with her gentle fingers. 

“Well, I’m not sorry for that. But I am for everything else.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

“You said -” Fatin’s voice breaks. “Last week. When we fought while moving. That you kept falling for my spell. I just - I’m not mad, but I don’t -”

“Hey, hey,” Leah says soothingly, even with the crack in her voice. She squeezes Fatin’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean it. I trust you, okay? I don’t see you and see all the worst parts. I don’t. Everyone has bad shit, and it’s not that you’re exempt from it. It’s just that with you, there’s so much good. More good than you give yourself credit for. I’ll list all of them right now, I swear, and your looks will only be, like, the eleventh thing I say ‘cuz that’s how -”

Fatin interrupts her by slapping the water. A stream of water strikes Leah’s cheek. “Stop. I mean, I’m totally asking you to list all of them later, but you’re gonna have me be the first brown person to actually blush and I’m not ready for that yet. You’re good, Leah.”

Leah is still scrubbing the side of her face dry when her mouth cracks into an embarrassed but touched smile. “So am I forgiven?”

“Honestly, I don’t think throughout all of this I’ve actually been mad at you. Just at me. Which brings me to my apology. Are you ready?”

“Yup. But first.” Leah splashes Fatin, wetting her hair. “Now, I’m ready.”

Fatin shakes her wet ponytail, water droplets successfully landing on Leah. “Okay. So. I need to just say I’m sorry for giving you so much shit about him. I mean, yeah, he’s a dick, forever standing by that, but I just - I wished I was better about it. You weren’t deluded or weak about it. None of it was your fault. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay, but like. Say it too.”

“It?”

“Ugh, you know what I mean!”

Leah chuckles but obliges. “None of it was my fault.”

“Good. I think - okay, I’m not giving myself an excuse but it’s hard to believe that I’m, like, worth giving two shits about. And that someone like _you_ could.”

“Someone like _me_?”

“Yes! You’re just - you’re you, and I don’t think you’ve noticed, but you’re amazing, and - okay. I’m already losing track. You and your fucking eyes are distracting me.”

“What?”

“Could you, like, close them?”

“Are you serious?”

“ _Yes_.”

“I cannot believe you,” Leah says, but she closes her eyes.

Fatin whooshes out a breath. Yes, this is better. “I’ve never thought _he_ was your fault but I used him against you anyway. Because I was scared, and it was a cheap shot, and I get - I get so fucking mean when shit hurts. Our first fight happened days after. I found out my dad was cheating and a day after I sent the pics out. The one we just had, everyone was giving me crap for being lazy and just so _disappointed_ in me and - and it hurt and I lashed and put it on you. You don’t deserve that. I’m not gonna be the person who bottles shit up and blames everyone else and takes it out on the people they love. I’m not. I’m sorry I was.”

“Are you done?”

Fatin frowns. She inspects Leah’s face, but nothing in Leah’s expression gives her away. “Hey, your apology made you cry. You’re not crying yet. I was done, but now I feel like I’m not because your eyes are dry.”

“My eyes are shut, so how can you tell?”

“I just _can,_ why - okay, let me say one more thing, and then I’m done and you can open your eyes. Kay?”

Leah gives her a thumbs-up.

Fatin steals a second to compose herself. She wraps her arms around herself, takes it all in. The mushy sand at the bottom of her feet. The expanse of blue and green all around them. The constant waterfall that, for just this one moment, is not quieter than Leah’s breathing.

“Okay,” Fatin exhales. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m, like, super glad that we’re friends. And we always will be! That won’t change. Especially if you don’t want it to. Okay? But I’ve wanted to do this for _so fucking long_ and shit keeps getting in our way but we keep almost dying and I’ll be really pissed if I don’t just try because you’re so worth trying for, so like, let’s fuck up our friendship one last -”

Leah cuts Fatin off. It’s very rude. Except it’s not because Leah does it by surging forward, cupping both sides of Fatin’s face, and kissing her. For a split-second, Fatin stands there. Eyes open, mildly offended that Leah interrupted her well-planned speech and didn’t let Fatin be the first one to kiss her.

That’s probably why Leah pulls back suddenly. Her eyes widen as she draws her hands back. “Um. Did you not mean fuck up our friendship by literally fucking it up? Did I, like, misinterpret that?”

Fatin shows Leah exactly how well she’d interpreted Fatin by closing the space between them again with a kiss. Fatin knows how to kiss. Knows where to put her hands, knows what to do with her tongue, knows how to give it her all. This isn’t her first kiss but it’s the first one that really matters, so she throws all of that out the window.

It’s an earnest mess of hands and firm gentleness and smiles pressed against smiles. Fatin has wanted to do this for months, honestly since Leah first told Brent to shut the fuck up, and it’s one of the few things that live up to the anticipation. She’d figured maybe she’d do it in Leah’s car one-day. Or plant a kiss on her in the middle of the hallway right before Leah’s Calculus started. Or, if she could handle waiting that long, take Leah to a fancy-ass restaurant and buy expensive wine and kiss her after dessert.

The actuality of their first kiss isn’t ideal. But it’s still perfect.

Fatin pulls back. She sneaks a glance at Leah. Leah’s face is pink, her lips are red, and her eyes are full of stars. Fatin is so fucking gone.

“Just so we’re clear,” Fatin exhales, hooking her legs around Leah. She shivers pleasantly as Leah’s hands shift to the small of her back and hold her up. “I wanted to kiss you first.”

“You talk too much. Good thing I like it, though.” Leah licks her lips. Her eyes dart to Fatin’s chest where they press against Leah’s own chest. Fatin smirks. Leah Rilke is going to make her come today. Fatin will get to return the favour. She’ll _finally_ have an orgasm and it’ll be from Leah. 

Fuck. Yes.

“I also have a terrible crush on you,” Fatin confesses. It doesn’t come out sultry, the way she’d intended, instead more quiet and honest and painfully shy. She leans forward. Rests her forehead against Leah’s. Sneaks in a quick kiss. She’s only kissed Leah three times at this point but she knows now that she’ll never get enough of it.

Leah presses a kiss against the tip of Fatin’s nose. “I may or may not have totally written awful poetry about you and made Ian suffer through many long ‘oh my god, I really fucking like Fatin’ soliloquies and have also named this dumb smile I get when I’m with you.”

Fatin gasps. She untangles her legs from Leah’s just so she can hoist Leah up herself from sheer excitement. “Are you kidding?”

“Unfortunately not,” Leah says through a bewildered laugh. She doesn’t protest, though, as Fatin lifts her so high she’s nearly halfway out the water. She wraps her legs around Fatin’s middle, her hand drifting to Fatin’s hair. “Why?”

“I have a dumb smile for you too!” Fatin can’t believe she’s admitting this. Out loud. But Leah’s grin is too infectious for her not to admit it all, and hey, Leah said it first, so Fatin says it all. “I call it my ‘Leah smile’. Creative, I know. What do you call yours?”

Leah laughs in Fatin’s shoulder, so giddy it feels like another kiss to the nose. She lowers herself out of Fatin’s grasp and groans. Fatin would be concerned if not for the fact that Leah wraps Fatin back up into a hug, not a bit of space between them.

Leah peeks up at Fatin. “I call it my Fatin smile too.”

Fatin squeals an octave she’d figured was humanly impossible to reach. The next few seconds are the cheesiest of Fatin’s life. She flings her arms around Leah’s neck. They both move to kiss each other but overexert themselves and end up tipping over into the water, so closely intertwined that all it takes is Fatin tugging the end of Leah’s shirt for them to kiss underwater. 

Nothing is okay. They’re still trapped on this island. No one knows where they are. Life is moving forward without them.

But with Leah’s lips on hers, Leah warm and flushed and solid against her, and the knowledge that six wonderful girls are on the other side of the island looking forward to when she and Leah get back, Fatin feels okay. More than okay. Against all odds, she feels entirely, wildly happy.

She also feels like things will be okay. She can’t imagine how. Even when they get off this island. 

But as Leah rises to the surface, tossing her shirt off and making Fatin glad she brought her lube in her jacket pocket, Fatin thinks back to her conversation with Shelby. About their happy endings.

Fatin knows jack shit about any of their endings. 

Except she knows it doesn’t end on this island. And she just knows, with complete certainty, that what comes next will be better and grander and happier. For all of them. Herself included. 

(And of course, she’s right.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i cannot tell you how many times i've rewatched 1x05. many times were just to hear leah call out fatin's name when she finally sees her and the ADORABLE way fatin's just like !!! "HEY-OH!! :) <3" 
> 
> not much 2 say except  
> 1) i love fatin SO MUCH  
> 2) i love leah!!!!!!  
> 3) i love all eight of these girls /so much/ and this chapter probably would've been shorter had i not indulged myself with fatin interacting with everyone else except that's not fun  
> 4) and i love YOU, lovely reader, so much. thank you all for your kind words and comments. i can't believe we're on our way to the last chapter!! endless thanks to you for reading and interacting. all the best to you and see you next time!


End file.
